A Study in Scarlet
by Sandylee007
Summary: SEQUEL TO 'THE SIGN OF FOUR' AND 'THE VALLEY OF FEAR', FINAL PART OF THE ARC. It's been seven months and the world has changed dramatically. The group has been drifting apart until faith pushes them towards each other once more. Will they be able to trust each other when love and loyalty are tested like never before? Will they survive? POSSIBLE CHARACTER DEATHS.
1. 200

A/N: It took just a little bit longer but now it's finally here! (beams) The third and final piece of this saga. Hooray?

Before getting started, though…!

WARNINGS: POTENTIAL CHARACTER DEATHS. Language. Violence. Gore. Adult themes. General confusion. (looks around) Uh… Anybody there…?

DISCLAIMER: If I did own anything of these two series you'd here me shouting with joy throughout the world. But sadly, working for either series isn't my dayjob. (pouts)

Awkay, folks… (gulps) This is always the hardest part, so before I chicken out… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

**_A Study in Scarlet_**

* * *

The cell was dark and cold. The lonely, heavily chained prisoner couldn't see past their own fingers but the reek of feces, bodily fluids and torture hanging thickly in the air spoke volumes on what was hiding in the shadows. As did the agony pulsating everywhere in the battered, tormented body.

Dark and haunted but undefeated eyes rose towards the tiny dungeon's ceiling in a futile search for any sort of a window. There were no glimpses of the outside world.

Ages ago, in what felt like a different life altogether, Eveleen Moriarty came to tell that her plan was falling nicely into place. That there'd been several explosions and the world the trapped soul had been stolen from had changed dramatically. That none of those people the furiously hammering, determined heart held dear existed anymore. There was no telling how many lives had been lost. Eveleen had only smiled.

/ _"And believe me, there'll be more. So much more. The world you've come to know will burn."_ /

After that there'd been nothing. The captive's only contact to the outside world were the torturers that came every once in a while. Attacking each and every part of the already abused body. Clearly enjoying every broken bone, every wound, every droplet of blood.

At first there were questions. Questions concerning people who were a large part of the captive's life, once upon a time. Then even those stopped. The prisoner preferred not trying to guess what it might mean, refused to believe that there was no one left anymore. The prisoner never spoke, no matter what they threatened to do. With sheer stubbornness the captive pressed their lips together and prayed, in the depths of a mind that miraculously hadn't collapsed yet, that the price of the defiance wouldn't turn out too high.

They provided barely enough food and water to keep their tortured guest alive. To ensure that the sick game wouldn't come to an end just yet. At one point the prisoner decided on a hunger strike. Just before succumbing to darkness for what the tormented soul fully expected to be the last time the sounds of a baby crying floated into the never-ending nightmare. Provided just enough spark to keep the stubborn heart beating. Those eyes opened once more.

The prisoner took a deep breath while swimming out of the sea of memories, trying to guess how long it'd been. Days? Weeks? Months? Years? A lifetime? At first the torturers came in regular intervals but now even that had changed so estimating the passing time was impossible. All that remained were the shadows and pain. Those were the only reality.

The prisoner closed their eyes, drifting into a entirely different world. Dreaming of happiness and love. Of a world that quite possibly would never exist anymore. Those dreams had gentle touches and smiles. The captive couldn't remember the last time they would've seen someone smile warmly.

The sweet dream was, however, bound to end. The haunted eyes flew open at the sharp sound of a alarm siren. A already ragged breath was caught into a painfully tight throat while the wide eyes kept staring, trying to see although it was impossible.

This sound… It penetrated the dark every once in a while. An attack, by whom was impossible to tell. It was a beacon of hope. Perhaps this would all end, one way or the other.

Gunshots. Those the prisoner recognized easily. Shouts of rage and pain. Footsteps, such the tormented mind couldn't recognize, approached the door. Muscles stiffened although it was nearly unbearably painful. Hands attempted to reach out for something, anything, that the captive would've been able to defend themselves with. The shaking fingers found nothing. And then the door was already pushed open.

The light assaulting the prisoner's eyes was horrific. But through it, just barely, the outline of one Dr. John Watson could be seen. There was a loud gasp. "Spencer…?"

And then it was blessedly dark once more.

* * *

Brave New World

* * *

The dreams continued for ages. Or rather nightmares. Flickers of torture mixed with those of affection. Memories blended together with illusions.

And then Dr. Spencer Reid woke up with something that might've been a scream if there'd been any breath left in him. He was about to jump into a sitting position until the pain flaming everywhere in his body took over, sending him down once more. A soft groan broke through his lips, clawing his throat painfully on its way out.

Steps moved somewhere at his right. "Spencer? Are you awake?" Even in the middle of all the chaos and terror that voice was familiar.

The familiar presence managed to calm Spencer down a little. He turned his head, barely daring to do so in fear of not finding what he was desperate to see. He wasn't disappointed. John really was there, only a step or so away with an expression of concern and understanding on his face.

Was this… real, or was he still dreaming?

"It's alright, Spencer", John assured him, checking the I.V. attached to him. "You're on pain medication and antibiotics. It's quite an infection you're struggling with. I'm sorry but I also had to give you a small dosage of mild sedative. You were getting restless and began to bring further harm on your injuries."

Spencer nodded slowly, still attempting to figure out if this was actually happening. How was it possible that he was here, wherever here was? Was he able to trust this?

It seemed that his head wasn't exactly in the condition to ponder further. For the first time in forever he felt no pain and exhaustion was pulling him under greedily. His eyes began to close despite his best efforts.

John noticed. The doctor gave him a small smile that seemed to hide something. "Get some rest. I'm sure that you have a lot of questions but now… Now isn't the time. Just sleep." Right before dreamless slumber swept him under he heard the older man go on. "You're safe now."

* * *

Ashley Seaver's heart had never been hammering the way it did when she sat chained to a firmly made, already blood soaked chair. The bruises and injuries she'd received during her recent beating didn't even register to her. All she could focus on was what approached inevitably.

Ever since she accepted her current case she'd had no illusions. She'd known that she was headed towards something extremely dangerous. The chance of a failure had been high from the very beginning.

So Ashley had no false beliefs. She'd already watched her three team-members die of a cleverly placed trap bomb. She knew, better than well, that she was next.

And true enough, soon a door opened behind her. Calm, even steps approached her. It seemed to take ages before the arrival was in her line of vision. When he was her heart skipped a beat. If she'd been able to breathe properly she would've gasped.

Before her stood Aaron Hotchner, a unreadable look in his eyes. "So…" The voice she heard wasn't the one she'd grown accustomed to what felt like decades ago. "I'm under the impression that you've been looking for me. Here I am."

Outside the room a person stood waiting. There wasn't even the slightest shiver when a few minutes later a gunshot rang out. Instead a icy smirk appeared to Eveleen Moriarty's face.

* * *

The next time Spencer began to drift towards consciousness he was startled by the feeling of someone holding his hand. In an instant alarm bells went off inside his head and his blood pressure spiked up. The constantly increasing beeping did nothing to calm his nerves. He ripped himself free from the foreign hold as though it'd burned, every single cell in his body preparing for pain.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy." That voice… He recognized it, even though his head was still full of fog. It went on a lot more quietly, obviously speaking to someone else. "Baby girl, maybe you should give him some space."

There was more quiet talking that became nothing but static to Spencer. With a frown of intense concentration he struggled, eventually managing to lure his eyes halfway open. The amount of light that filled his vision made him feel like someone had poured acid into his eyes. He groaned, instantly attempting to shield himself.

There was a bit of rustling until a new voice spoke. "Sorry about that." _Emily…?_ "We forgot to adjust the light. It's safer to try again now."

With newfound eagerness Spencer pried his eyes open once more. It took a considerable amount of effort but in the end he recognized the figures gathered around him. John stood right beside his bed, eyes firmly on the monitor that kept beeping in a infuriating manner. Derek Morgan was almost as close, looking at him with a small smile that appeared a little too tight. There was sorrow in the man's eyes that didn't linger there the last time they met. Right beside the mocha skinned agent stood Penelope Garcia, a wide smile on her face and tears in her eyes. Jennifer Jareau stood by the window with her back to him so he couldn't see her face. Her shoulders appeared far too stiff. David Rossi lingered nearby the far end of his bed, relief and sorrow fighting over room on his face. And then there was Emily Prentiss, stood quite close to John with a slightly uncertain expression that seemed out of place on her. Spencer's eyes widened when he took in just how far along her pregnancy was.

How long…?!

The beeping became frantic once more. Instantly Derek stepped closer, careful to leave a comfortable amount of room between them. "Calm down, Reid. It's okay. You're safe." Once the irritating sound slowed down the man took a look around. "We're in London. Mycroft arranged this new hiding place for us. He should be here soon."

Spencer swallowed, desperately trying to make sense of things. The fact that there were so many people around him was unnerving although deep within him he rejoiced. For so long he'd been sure that he'd never, ever see them again. "How long…?"

The group seemed hesitant. In the end it was Emily who broke the news. "It's… been seven months."

"I'm sorry that it took so long", Derek joined in, far more quietly than usual. "But… We never gave up. We knew that you were alive, somewhere out there."

Spencer nodded slowly, not quite managing to take in all the information flooding at him. In the end he looked around and frowned. "Hotch and Sherlock… Where are they?" His voice was raspy and barely audible but he didn't care. When no one uttered a word he pushed on, ignoring his aching throat. "Why London? What happened?"

As soon as he saw the looks the others exchanged he knew that he didn't want to know the answers.

* * *

In a rather dark room of a massive building two nearly identical pairs of eyes observed the footage transmitted by a surveillance camera. Watched how one perfectly aimed shot from John's gun took down a well trained guard. Observed how the former soldier secured the environment with military precision. The man spotted a second guard that was attempting to sneak in an attack. Another gunshot and the threat was eliminated.

"You can't even imagine how much I'd like to kill him right now", Ivan Rimakov confided, his voice smoother than velvet despite the breath of rage. Flames could be seen in the criminal mastermind's eyes. "I truly hate that pet of yours."

Something positively murderous flashed in the other man's eyes. It, however, disappeared in a blink. "If you touch him it will be the end of you."

Ivan's eyes flickered towards the other for a brief moment before focusing on the screen once more. He found John looking right back at him. With his third shot the doctor destroyed the camera.

"You know our deal, Sherlock." He switched off the monitor with a perfectly steady hand. "As long as you keep working for me your dear Johnny boy is safe."

Sherlock Holmes snorted. "And you're expecting me to believe you?"

"I fail to see what other choice you have."

Sherlock refused to comment in any way. There was a deep inhale, followed by a unnaturally loud exhale, before the man spoke in a clipped tone. "I'm assuming that you have a plan."

Ivan smiled in a sinister way, his eyes remaining on the now black monitor screen. "Now, brother… It's time to move on to the next part of our plan. We'll go to London."

* * *

TBC OR NOT?

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… It seems that there's quite a bit of mess ahead. But at least Reid's safe and it seems that Sherlock's heading closer to the others. It seems that this whole nightmare will be over soon. Maybe…

Soooo… Was that any good, at all? Or something that should be deleted instantly? PLEASE, do let me know! Even if it's a sequel starting a new story is always nerve-wrecking so it'd feel really good to hear from you.

I've gotta go. It's getting late and I should be in bed right now. (smirks sheepishly) Thank you so much for reading this!  
Who knows, maybe I'll see you again…?

Take care!


	2. Secrets and Lies

A/N: The second chapter is FINALLY done! (beams) I did a bit of editing and re-editing with a couple of bits but in the end came out with a version that felt at least close to something that can be published. (smirks sheepishly)

THANK YOU, so, so much, for your reviews and love! This is the last part of a trilogy so it means the world to me that you've been sticking around for this long. (beams and hugs) So thank you!

Awkay, because I know what you came here for… Let's go! I really hope that this one's a enjoyable ride.

* * *

The Evil That Men Do

* * *

The recap given to Spencer was brutal, as was the new world the group had been struggling to survive in.

There'd been a series of explosions that tore down several important landmarks. The bureau, the police station… Countless of people had lost their lives in the explosions and the chaos that ensued. A lot of good, honest people, such as Kevin Lynch. And then came the disease, the very same that John barely survived of. It started out in Virgnia but it didn't take long before the tidal wave of terror had spread through the country. Sherlock and Aaron were instantly named fugitives and a lot of suspicion was darted towards Aaron's team as well.

There'd been so many terrorist attacks since then that the group honestly couldn't name them all. Fear, rage and madness had taken over. The worst part was that the group's children were still missing, along with Aaron and Sherlock. Jason Gideon also vanished early in the chaos. At the moment they had no idea where the man was. Spencer was the only one they'd managed to save before Mycroft arranged them a somewhat safe and strictly discreet transport to England.

Spencer shivered when he looked at his friends – comrades, family. Derek appeared tense and exhausted. Heartbreak and betrayal had left their marks on David's face. Emily's hand was protective on her mightily swollen belly and her nails were well chewed again, the stress over her child's future clearly having taken its toll on her. Penelope's face had traces of grief and there was a tattoo around her left ring finger, a reminder of a proposal that she never accepted. JJ appeared crushed, almost, under the longing for her other family. As for John… There was no name for what Spencer saw in the former army medic's eyes.

Spencer himself… Well, he quite honestly preferred not thinking about that. He even tried not to feel a wave of pain at the thought that he hadn't been there beside the others to face all this, no matter how involuntarily he'd been absent.

He must've dozed off at some point. As though through fog he heard Mycroft's visit, some arguing, someone punching the wall. And saw dark as he slept. That was alright, it was what he'd grown accustomed to during the past seven months. To think he used to fear it.

When Spencer woke up again it seemed to be a rather late evening. John was working on the wounds littering his legs with a look of intense concentration. The doctor gave him a apologetic look when he twitched. "Sorry. I tried not to wake you." The man's focus fell back on the injuries. "You've fought off the infection remarkably well. You still have quite a bit of fever, though."

Spencer nodded. He searched the words for a moment before speaking out. "Sherlock… I'm sure that he has his reasons."

If such was possible the pain in John's eyes grew even deeper. The man gritted his teeth. "I know. That's the most infuriating part of this." The doctor then sighed, evaluating his work. "There, all done." The Brit's face radiated sympathy. "Don't worry, you'll be back on your feet soon."

"Thank you." And Spencer meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

A companionable silence fell, lasting for so long that they both jumped slightly when John's cell phone bleeped as a sign of a new text message. The soldier's eyes instantly hardened, filled with concentration that reminded Spencer quite a bit of Sherlock. After reading the message John sighed, beginning to leave the room. "Finally."

Spencer frowned, fever, pain and fatigue fogging his head. It took more effort than it should've to speak. "What is it?"

"A location." Clearly seeing his unvoiced question John smiled sadly. "Sherlock has his own network. So do I." The man then frowned. "You can't be left alone, though."

"He won't be." They were both startled by JJ's voice. Turning his head Spencer found her from the doorway. There was something that looked suspiciously lot like tears in her eyes. She must've seen quite a bit of his injuries. "I'll stay here with him, Penelope and Emily. Emily didn't like not going but agreed. She can't risk getting contractions again, not out there."

John nodded, relief in his eyes. "Good. Good. We'll get going, then."

The doctor was almost out of the room when Spencer found his voice. "Be careful. All of you."

There was steel in John's eyes. "I'll make sure that they all come back. I promise." So saying the man left the room.

* * *

(1) When agent G. Anderson first announced that he was about to join the FBI a lot of people didn't believe in him. He was young. A little naïve. Many considered him too soft for such a brutal, dark world. When Elle Greenaway got shot and some of the blame was laid on his shoulders even he began to believe so. But he was also stubborn. Determined to prove everyone wrong. And so he did.

When Aaron Hotchner was labelled a traitor and the bureau became destroyed G. Anderson fought furiously along with the others to bring what could be restored back from the ashes. To create a new start. When a manhunt against Aaron and the criminal organization he apparently worked for was announced he joined in, determined to find out the truth. He was right there hunting down the criminal web and also a member of the team that ended up finding supposedly dead James Moriarty's corpse.

Today that seemingly endless hunt was, apparently, about to pay off. Because the disappearance of agent Ashley Seaver and the little data she'd managed to send before that led his team to a small, isolated cottage outside the city. With flashlights and guns ready they sneaked in soundlessly, entirely too aware of the fact that they were after someone extremely dangerous.

He managed to take five steps into the dusty, eerily hollow hallway until he heard the unmistakable report of a gun that had a silencer, followed by a ominous thud. In a matter of seconds there was a repeat and he felt a cold fist squeezing his heart. A blockage formed in his throat.

Had he just lost two teammembers?

He didn't have to wonder long, though. Because a floorboard creaked, almost directly behind him. He reacted in a flash.

Before the attacker dressed in all black and a equally dark mask that covered his face could see it coming he attacked. With the force and ferocity of a feral animal he charged, blatantly ignoring both their guns. His fists swung and swung until the other was down, secured and harmless. Eager to find out who killed his teammembers – colleagues, friends – he ripped off the mask. Breath froze into his throat.

He was staring directly into the unnaturally dark, barely recognizeable eyes of Aaron Hotchner.

He stared, and stared. Desperately attempting to figure out what to say. In the end only one word found its way to his lips. "Why?"

Aaron's face gave away nothing. "Do it", was all the man said, and it wasn't until then he realized that his gun was pressed firmly against the older agent's forehead. "Shoot me. End this." It sounded far more like a plea than it was probably supposed to.

He frowned. "End what? What have you done?"

He'd never, ever find out the answers. Because in his haste and adrenaline rush he'd failed to catch the steps approaching him. A bullet entered his head, and the last thing he saw of this world was the pure, naked despair in Aaron's eyes, shining through the sea of emptiness.

Aaron stared at the younger – much too young – agen't body with slightly widened eyes, struggling to keep himself in the line. Struggled to understand that the man was really dead. Another unnecessary casualty of this horror story.

And he never even found out the poor man's first name.

Eveleen lowered her gun with a frosty little smirk. "No need to thank me, dear. Your silly little mindgame distracted him quite nicely." She went on once he'd pushed himself up. "Now let's go. There's a crisis and we're needed."

Aaron fought furiously not to look towards G. Anderson's body while walking out of the house that reeked of blood and death. Of betrayal. "Where are we going?"

"To London."

* * *

After nearly everyone headed out Spencer fell into a restless sleep for a moment. When he woke up from a dream that was close to becoming a nasty nightmare JJ was occupying the chair dragged beside his bed. He just looked at her for a moment, not liking the haunted, grieving look in her eyes. The past seven months had been hell for her, too.

Her husband… Being there with her children… Her leg… She'd lost too much.

Spencer cleared his throat, not quite sure how to begin. "I… know that you're still angry at me for… leaving." _For pretending to be dead. For not being there._ "But… I'm sorry."

JJ nodded. When she looked at him there was moisture and something incredibly warm in her eyes. "I'm sorry, too." Seeing the momentary confusion in his eyes she went on. "I know that you miss your son, every second. And I know that you're in pain."

Spencer shifted, feeling a hint of discomfort. "I'll be fine", he promised in the end. "And… We'll find our way to them. Somehow."

He shivered with startle when the bed dipped all of a sudden. Feeling JJ's body heat so very close was almost more than his still recovering, nightmare ridden head was ready for. But he didn't move away from her, not even when she lay her head against his shoulder.

* * *

/ _JJ fought furiously to ignore how much like Sherlock Ivan Rimakov looked when she followed him through a maze of shadowy hallways, using all her willpower to keep her face blank. The last thing she wanted was to show weakness in front of this monster. To hand him another tool to crank her with._

_"Remember, agent Jareau… This is all for your children. They're safe right now and will remain that way for as long as you agree to co-operate. Which I'm sure you'll do, since you're the only parent they have."_

And whose fault is that?_ she wanted to snarl but controlled herself, just barely. Instead she took a deep breath while they stopped in front of a heavy door and two suspicious looking guards. Ivan said something to them in Russian and they moved with visible reluctance, sharp shark's eyes firmly on her._

_"They'll be keeping an eye on you", Ivan told her in a tone that left nothing to be questioned. "If they feel like you haven't completed your task properly… Well, there'll be consequences." He offered her a deceitfully pleasant smile. "I'm sure that you know what you're doing. After all, this is what you did during your Pentagon-days." He snapped his fingers and the door was unlocked by one of the guards. "Don't worry, he won't ever know that it's you. This is a dirty little secret between just the two of us."_

_Not granting him another word she gritted her teeth and steeled herself, then entered the room. Of course she'd known what was up ahead. But actually seeing it…_

_Right there before her eyes sat Spencer, blindfolded and tied firmly. His clothes were filthy and tainted by countless of blood stains. The skin she could see was full of bruises and just one glance revealed that he'd lost a unhealthy amount of weight. Still he sat straight, unseeing gaze directed firmly ahead. "What do you want?" he barked out. He waited for the total of six seconds. "You know that I won't tell you anything. So what do you want?"_

_With no one left to see JJ allowed the tears to finally fall. This… This was, without a doubt, the most horrible thing she'd ever done. Unforgivable._

_But this was her only way to protect her children, and what kind of a mom would she be if she didn't…?_

_She wanted to scream that she was sorry, so very desperately that the weight of it nearly crushed her. Instead she swung in the first punch. Spencer's head snapped sideways but the man didn't utter a sound. JJ wasn't sure if that made it better or worse._

_JJ inhaled, struggling to keep it from sounding choked, and attacked again. This time she probably hit a already sore spot because Spencer grunted. The sound tore her like a knife. She glanced nearly pleadingly to the camera hiding in the room's corner. It gave her two blinks. She didn't have the permission to stop yet. She hadn't completed her task._

_Biting back a storm of sobs that would've without a doubt been too loud JJ went on, hating each and every second of it. Kicks. Punches. To a point where Spencer's blood stained her hands and clothes. He wouldn't utter a sound. Not until he was on the very edge of unconsciousness._

_Because there, exactly a second before darkness took him, he whispered in a voice she barely heard. "The team… They're my family. I won't let you find them." With that he became completely still and silent._

_The camera's light blinked once. As soon as the door was opened JJ bolted out and was blindfolded, then dragged forcefully out of the building. After ages, once she was sure that no one was watching, she retched loudly, the tears rolling freely. She'd never hated herself more._

_What the hell did she just do?!_ /

* * *

With the memory haunting her JJ grabbed Spencer's hand, desperate to feel it warm and solid – alive – in hers. Tears filled her eyes and it took all she had not to let them spill. To keep her tongue from betraying the secret that'd weight her heart until the day she died.

"I'm sorry", she murmured again, and nothing she'd ever said had been as true.

* * *

DI Gregory Lestrade was very, very nervous as he entered a elevator, carefully making sure that the young man rushing towards the doors didn't make it inside. His fried nerves were only to be expected. It wasn't every day he met a once dead man turned fugitive.

The lift took him up for exactly three floors before the doors opened. At first he frowned when all he found was a tall man in training clothes with light-brown hair and sharp brown eyes that were framed by glasses. But then the man moved and recognition dawned. There was only one person who could possibly have the kind of an aura around them the one accompanying him now did. There was also no mistaking those cheekbones.

Greg waited until the doors closed and they were surely alone before he spoke. "I… received your messages." Small, crypted notes hidden on dead bodies that'd been piling up suspiciously, no less. He shifted weight to his other foot. "So… There's an attack coming?"

"Yes."

Greg fought the urge to roll his eyes. _Well, thank you. That was very helpful…_ "How, exactly, am I supposed to prepare myself and the rest of the Yard for it if I don't know anything more specific? I need…"

He was interrupted when a flash drive was handed subtly towards him. His companion didn't go on until he'd accepted the offering. "It's all there. Along with an address to the current location of John and a group of FBI-agents. You may want to work with them."

Hearing John's name made Greg blink once. He hadn't met his friend since the man headed to his mission to bring Sherlock back. He nodded, feeling a bit dazed. Terrorists. Conspiracies. Insane plans. This was a tad bit too much for him. He took a deep breath, focusing on the elevator's doors. "Is Mycroft in on this as well?"

His companion scoffed. "Don't be dull. This is a massive international terrorist organization. Of course he's involved."

Greg frowned, confusion thickening still. "Then… Why aren't you having this meeting with him?"

"Because it would've been too obvious."

Greg blinked. That… made sense, kind of. A meeting with Mycroft Holmes wouldn't have gone unnoticed. Not that a meeting with him was a lot less hazardous. This was his companion taking a massive risk. He swallowed, his palms sweating a little. "What about John? Does he know?"

"This is your floor."

A hint of frustration mixed with anxiety, fear and worry when the elevator came to a stop. Just before the doors opened Greg peered at his companion. "Be careful."

Sherlock nodded. For the first time their eyes met and held, only briefly but still. Nothing more needed to be said.

The doors opened and Greg walked out, not daring to look over his shoulder any longer. Perhaps he should've. Because as soon as he was gone the expression on his companion's face changed. Something truly chilling took over those eyes.

Ivan took his cell phone and dialed numbers. With his patience wearing thin he waited for the three seconds it took before the call was accepted. "_Well?_"

"We were correct", he bit out in a hazardous tone. "We've been compromised. It's time to move on to Track B."

* * *

John dared to claim that he was a rather patient person. That trait was certainly needed if one wants to flat-share with Sherlock Holmes without ending up wanting to murder the man. But even he had limits.

This was the second time he'd lost Sherlock. For the past seven months he'd been chasing bread crumps with the BAU-team, wishing desperately that the detective would be found at the end of one clue. So far all he'd caught were tiny bits and pieces, just enough to let him know that Sherlock was alive but nothing more. It was like chasing after quicksand.

But John wasn't planning on giving up. Not when it was about Sherlock. Not when there was so very much to lose. So, no matter how bloody much it hurt, he allowed hope to flutter in his chest while he followed the team towards a lonely, stunningly domestic looking house on the far edge of London.

Carefully painted and well-maintained walls. A garden that'd clearly been cared for with a lot of love and affection. If he hadn't known better he would've imagine that the house belonged to a very happy family.

The illusion lasted until he saw a guard through the window, obviously making a round around the house.

They exchanged determined looks. Then, with a few hand signals from Derek they all agreed on, they were on the move. Making it into the highly guarded house went stunningly smoothly. A couple of clean shots ensured a safe entrance and they slipped in almost soundlessly.

When the immediate chaos was over they stopped and listened, careful to spot any signs of further unpleasant company. There was, indeed, someone approaching them. Spinning around with their guns held high they found a middle-aged man with a shaved head that'd most likely had dark hair once and dark eyes. The man had his hands held high. There was no gun in sight.

Swiftly and effortlessly David cuffed the criminal and chained him to a battery that'd been fastened conveniently to a wall nearby. Once they were sure that the man was harmless they scattered and moved on. John also moved to proceed further into the building. That was until a chillingly familiar, obscene text-message signal met his ears.

* * *

Derek's heart began to hammer madly when he peered behind one corner to see a guard standing before a wooden door. After considering it for a moment he lifted his gun and took a shot. A second of stun later the man fell down.

Trying not to look at the body too carefully and struggling not to make any guesses on what kind of a person the man might've been Derek searched the criminal's belt. In a few short moments he managed to find what he'd been looking for. A small key.

Once again he paused to debate for a second. Then, hoping dearly that he wasn't making a huge mistake, he inserted to key to the door before him and turned. It opened effortlessly. Derek's eyes widened at what he found inside.

There, in a small room that had bars covering its window, a boy sat in the middle of toys and books. It took a moment before the child noticed him. And far longer before Derek realized just who it was right before him.

Jack Hotchner lit up into a bright smile. Relief flooded into the boy's eyes. "Uncle Morgan!"

* * *

Not very far the group's prisoner looked at John with eyes that had a far too satisfied look in them. "Now that we're finally alone, Dr. Watson… I have a special gift for you." The man's eyes flickered towards the pocket of his long, entirely too familiar looking black coat. "I have a cell-phone, right there. There's a video clip on it you may find interesting."

John arched an eyebrow. One of his fists balled, his mind getting prepared. "What do you imagine I'd find interesting?"

"A greeting from Sherlock, for instance."

John's heart most certainly skipped a beat, right there. And he was dishearteningly sure that it showed on his face. He considered for a few moments until his instincts got the best of him. Still far from trusting he reached out cautiously, in the end finding a smart-phone from the criminal's pocket. He met the other's eyes sharply, the look demanding answers. All he received was another smirk. John quite honestly wanted to punch it off the man's face. He didn't.

After fiddling with the item for a bit John came across a video clip. His finger paused for the longest moment, his mind reeling. Did he really want to see? To find out?

Yes, he did, because this was _Sherlock_.

Fighting furiously to keep his expression in check John opened the video. Watched. And instantly regretted his decision.

There on the small screen was Sherlock, bloodied and unnervingly unmoving, chained to a chair that'd been bolted heavily to the floor. The man was unconscious and there was no way of telling just how much damage had been done. Far too still. Much too lifeless.

And then the screen went black.

John's head swam and his stomach flipped in such a manner that for the longest time he was sure that he'd vomit. He wanted to scream from the bottom of his heart but all that came out in the end was a strangled gasp. A searing sensation took over his eyes.

_NO…!_

"He's still alive", the unnamed criminal pointed out, the words barely reaching John's screaming mind. There was a much too smug look on the man's face. "More or less, anyway. But he won't stay that way for long if you don't obey."

John swallowed thickly. In some miraculous way he managed to keep his expression and voice even. "What am I expected to do?"

"Sherlock broke the simple rules given him, that naughty man. And now… Now he'll face his punishment." The captive smirked, the blood tainting his lips making it appear grotesque. "He'll have his heart burned out of him."

* * *

TBC

* * *

1) Just to avoid confusion... This is the Anderson from 'CM' world, not the one from 'Sherlock'. (grins)

* * *

A/N: Oh snap… Now THIS isn't looking good, at all! Everyone's tangled in the game. Who comes out alive – and who doesn't?

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know your thoughts! Was this any good, at all, or is a delete-button needed?

I've really gotta tune out now. (pouts) Until next time, ya all! 'Hope I'll see you all them.

Take care!


	3. The Fallen

A/N: Guess what? I'm back – and a bit early, no less! (grins) Hooray?

First things first, though. THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews! You can't even imagine how warm and fuzzy they make me feel. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, because I suppose that there's no point in stalling this… (gulps) Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy this.

* * *

When the Wild Wind Blows

* * *

John had gone through his whole world falling apart several times over.

When he got shot in Afganistan, facing the fact that a single bullet took away everything he'd learned to consider familiar. When Sherlock fell right before his very eyes. When his wife and their little girl died, stolen away in a mindless act of violence. He wasn't planning on sitting back and watching Sherlock die, not again. After all the sacrifices Sherlock had done for him… well, this was the least he could do.

Making sure that the rest of the group was occupied by other things John left the house. Sure that there was someone watching him he stood on the sidewalk for two minutes that seemed endless. Then, out of nowhere it seemed, a sleek black car pulled up. He knew with disheartening certainty that it wasn't one of Mycroft's this time.

Entering the car John came to a realization that he finally understood how Sherlock felt right before plunging down from the rooftop of a hospital.

That gloomy thought was wiped away when he realized that he wasn't alone in the back of the vehicle. His eyes widened slightly with recognition. "You?"

* * *

Upstairs Derek could hear the rest of the team moving around, making sure that the threat was eliminated. Nearly all his focus was, however, locked on Jack Hotchner, who was currently clinging to him as though for dear life. And crying.

"I… I wanna go home", the child whispered. "I want daddy."

"Shh…", Derek soothed, holding the boy just a little closer. He swallowed thickly and blinked rapidly. "It'll be okay. Everything's okay, now." If only he'd believed that…

Jack's eyes filled with excitement all of a sudden, darting around. "Daddy's here. Right?"

Derek gritted his teeth, hard. At the moment he felt quite ready to bash Aaron's head in. "No, kid. He isn't."

Jack frowned. "Yeah, he is. I heard him."

Before Derek had the chance to process that any further there were more gunshots, this time loud and clear. That gun didn't sound like it belonged to a member of his team. Derek's heart skipped a beat.

Normally he would've stayed to fight. But right now he had Jack to protect. That's why he retreated to a massive closet nearby. A simple gesture was enough to silence a visibly petrified Jack but nothing could conceal the small screech the door made. Derek winced.

There was no way whoever was approaching hadn't heard that.

And sure enough the steps paused, right on the other side of the thin door. The attacker remained perfectly still, like a preadator preparing for an attack. Derek shifted and swallowed, darting his gun towards the door in a hopeless attempt to protect himself and Jack.

That was when they heard David's confused, almost scared voice. "Aaron, what…?!" The man was interrupted sharply by a nauseating, wet sound Derek preferred not trying to identify.

There was a brief, deceitful moment of silence. A second of false security. Then the bullets came raining in.

"DADDY!"

* * *

Evening was falling fast when Greg Lestrade and his team arrived to the scene about an hour later, tipped off by someone who claimed to have been passing by and heard gunshots. He'd seen quite a bit during his career. Still the sight inside gave him chills.

Right by the entrance, chained to a battery, was someone who looked distinctly familiar from a 'most wanted' list. The eerily smiling man was dead but there was no sign of stab or gunshot wounds. Cyanide, then. It could only be wondered what the criminal's last thoughts were.

* * *

/ _John's eyes were free of doubt and fear when they bore into the madman's. "Burn the heart out of Sherlock", he repeated in a surprisingly monotone voice. "So Ivan wants me dead to teach Sherlock a lesson."_

_The criminal smirked. "None of us is going to make it out of this alive."_ /

* * *

Greg groaned, moving along with his team. His head was starting to pound. This was going to be a very, very long night.

They found several more now deceased members of Moriarty's web. Most of them had been killed with clean, carefully darted shots. Quick and painless. Those who left behind the devastation certainly knew what they'd been doing.

Greg's eyes widened.

Perhaps this was starting to look like a FBI-operation because this indeed was one. The team working with John had been here. Were they still in the house? Because Greg's men wouldn't want to just let something of this magnitude go and his hands were tied.

There wasn't a trace left of the team. Or John. Only several more bodies. Greg was prepared to pull in a breath of relief until something caught his attention. Call it a sixth sense or pure instinct but he chose to follow it.

Signaling the others to follow he advanced in the second floor of the building, his gun held high. It was getting dark but still he could make out the silhouette of a person slumped to the floor. A person who was moving, alive. His heart skipped a beat.

Greg gritted his teeth. "This is DI Gregory Lestrade. Identify yourself right now and put your hands in the air."

The person didn't move. His hold on the gun never faltering Greg shone a flashlight towards the potential threat. The first thing he noticed were the blood covered clothes, then he took in the trembling hands. And finally, while shining light to the pale face, he recognized.

He was looking at Aaron Hotchner.

Three more commands made no difference. Aaron didn't react to them in any way whatsoever. In the end Greg sighed and glanced towards Sally Donovan. "Why don't you do the honors? I'll ride with him." There were some answers he was desperate to get.

Time seemed to drag on while Aaron was indeed cuffed, had his rights read for him and became hauled more or less gently off the floor. Greg felt oddly heavy and cold when he followed the two officers pulling along the agent turned criminal. Was it dread? Was he missing something obvious? Sherlock would've sneered with distaste.

In the end Greg found himself from the backseat of a patrol car with Aaron. He shot the young officer driving them a sharp 'If you ever tell anyone about this…!' glare before speaking. "I've… heard what you've done. You've become quite a legend." He glanced towards the agent who kept staring straight forward with glazed over eyes. "Why, Aaron? What happened?"

No reaction. No response. _Nothing_.

Greg sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair, starting to feel exasperated. "I'm trying to help you here. But I can't do that if you don't even talk to me." A small fidget urged him to carry on. "Let me help you."

The snort was barely audible. He didn't know if it was real until Aaron finally looked at him. "No one can help me."

Greg frowned and opened his mouth. He never had the time to voice whatever was on his mind. Because all of a sudden a massive force collided with the vehicle and everything turned into a spinning chaos.

* * *

The were many times when Mycroft had been unable to protect his brother. The threats varied from school bullies to sadistic serial killers. Now Sherlock had been forced to take a step to the dark side and there was nothing Mycroft could do.

Officially.

In the drastically changed world Mycroft was still a powerful man with a lot of resources. And he wasn't afraid of using them. He kept tabs on his brother, even sent a group for backup or cleaning up when he could. John and his BAU-allies didn't want him to become involved but he did arrange a safe enough base for them anyway. He also made sure that John had everything the doctor needed to tend to Spencer when they found the barely alive agent. All of this with strict confidentiality and firmly under the radar.

Or so Mycroft imagined, until he became aware of increased unwanted activity outside the block of flats where John and the agents were. It took him only moments to realize what had happened. There was a leak. As soon as he stepped into the same elevator with Timothy Spiers – a man in his late thirties with blond hair and almost disturbingly blue eyes who'd been his subordinate for a couple of years – Mycroft knew that he'd found his rat. The man had failed to wash off the stench of Irene Adler.

They greeted each other with nods and tight smiles that were full of feigned politeness. Careful to do it as unnoticeably as possible Mycroft dialed with his cell phone, then spoke in a voice that gave away nothing. "Is Sherlock Holmes still alive?"

Timothy gritted his teeth. One of the man's hands twitched towards where a bulge caused by a gun could be seen. "Yes. For now."

Mycroft nodded slowly. Seven more floors to go. "You do know that you won't be leaving this elevator alive, don't you?"

Timothy shrugged. "Maybe I won't. But… It doesn't matter. We already won." There was something horrifying and unsettling in the traitor's eyes. Triumph. "And just so you know… We have John. Soon he and Sherlock are dead. As for that little safehouse for the BAU-team… There's no such place as sanctuary."

It was a mighty battle but Mycroft had years of experience. His poker face held. This time it was his hand that moved, simultaneously with Timothy's. "If that is the case… Then what reason do I have to let you continue your existence?"

As much as he detested legwork Mycroft was no stranger to fire-arms. Timothy was fast but he was faster. A single bullet, directed neatly between the traitor's eyes, and it was finished. For now.

Not giving the corpse another glance Mycroft stepped out of the elevator and brought his cell phone to his ear. "Did you get that?"

"_Yes_", Anthea confirmed. There was just as little emotion in her voice. "_I understood that the threat's been neutralized. I'll send a cleaning up crew._"

"You do that." Mycroft gritted his teeth, cold shivers still going up and down inside of him. It took a degree of effort to keep his mind from straying towards Sherlock. Towards his little brother's potential fate. "And then send a team to the safehouse. We have a reason to assume that the team's location has been compromised."

* * *

Spencer and Emily were both more or less soundly asleep. JJ had announced that she needed some air and the rest of the team was still away. Which meant that Penelope was alone with her thoughts and worries while she paced in the small flat's kitchen.

She'd always been worried about her friends when they disappeared to cases, chasing psychopaths and monsters. Now they were in a forever changed world and the game was even more dangerous. She could only hope and pray that they'd all come back alive and well. That maybe, just maybe, they'd even manage to bring back Aaron.

She'd already lost Kevin – she couldn't…

For a moment Penelope was grateful for the interruption when he cell phone announced that she'd received a text message. The relief was short lived. She frowned upon discovering that the message was from Mycroft. The words made her eyes widen.

'_Vatican Cameos_'

Penelope barely had the time to recognize the warning before she heard the flat's door open, then steps. All breath caught into her throat. This was _not_ the team returning.

Early on in the madness she'd been given a gun for protection, no matter how loudly she'd objected. It was only sensible. If she'd be left alone from time to time she needed something to protect herself with. She'd hidden it to a drawer that was currently three steps away, not wanting to see it at all times.

She didn't have the time to move, though. Because just then the intruder – a very tall, bald man with dangerously alluring chocolate brown eyes – was already there. With a little smirk the man put a finger to his lips in a loudly speaking manner, the gun pointed at her enforcing his message. Ice cold terror spread through Penelope's veins while understanding dawned. Her lips opened but even a breath didn't slip through them.

She didn't want to die like this, especially knowing that after she'd be dead and gone this sadist would…

There was a gunshot. Splatters of blood stained the floor. A lifeless body fell down heavily. It wasn't Penelope's.

Shocked, Penelope shifted her gaze slowly from the corpse. By the bedroom's doorway stood Spencer, unhealthily pale and swaying slightly but unweavering determination in his eyes. The young genius' hold on his gun was firm and even.

Penelope swallowed, feeling her heart hammering a million miles per hour. After almost a full minute she finally managed to sputter. "How…?"

Spencer gritted his teeth, out of pain or something else entirely was impossible to tell. Far more slowly than usually the agent pulled out his cell phone. "I… got a message."

As soon as Penelope saw the words she understood and her blood ran cold.

'_Did you miss me?_

_Eveleen_'

It was the beginning of the end.

* * *

When Sherlock started his desperate attemps on sending Greg messages via bodies that were piling up fast he knew that it might not end well. Ivan wasn't stupid and he worked with a lot of men that shouldn't be underestimated. It wasn't a surprise that he got caught.

There was no escaping Ivan. Working his hardest to keep his mouth shut and emotions in check Sherlock endured what came his way. Every punch. Every kick.

It seemed to take ages before Ivan himself came. Stiff and fully prepared to face anything Sherlock waited while the other man undid his binds, then sat slowly to a chair that'd been placed quite nearby. The criminal simply observed him for a few moments before speaking. "It's a strange thing. Brotherhood." The man sighed, leaning towards him. "You… have not been a very good brother, William. You abandoned me into that hellhole. Wouldn't even answer my letters. I'm almost sure that you even managed to delete me." A single finger poked his forehead, choosing a spot that was most likely badly bruised. "It's quite impressive, that hard-drive of yours." The finger moved, poking his chest this time. "But instead of your brain… you chose to use your heart. And that's your downfall."

Sherlock snorted. It was hard not to swat away the finger invading his pesonal space. "You're starting to sound like Mycroft."

Ivan grinned, leaning back once more. The criminal mastermind nodded towards the door waiting exactly six steps away. "You must be in a dire need for a brotherly chat. Why else would you still be here?"

Sherlock frowned. Tried to see, only to find that the pounding in his skull and everywhere else in his body was numbing and blinding him. "Are you saying that I can leave?" This was a yet nother trap. Had to be.

Ivan's shrugged. The man's face betrayed nothing. "You've made it perfectly obvious that you feel no desire to work with me. Playing with your… friends was fun for a while but even that tends to get boring. And so… I'm declaring this little game of ours finished."

Sherlock's eyebrow bounced up. Justified suspicion grew in his mind, rolling all the way to the tip of his tongue. "So… You're going to let me go?"

Ivan laughed. "'Letting you go'? Oh, Sherlock, don't be stupid." A menacing look rose into the criminal's eyes. "I'm only letting you go because by now I've made sure that there's absolutely no way you can go back to the life you once had." The man smiled in a way that sent chills through the detective. "What you once had… It isn't much more than dust in the wind. So go. The door isn't locked."

Alarm bells went off inside Sherlock's head. Of course he knew better than to trust _this_. Despite his injuries he was able to pinpoint the threat hiding behind those words. But he needed to go. Had to find John, before it'd be too late. And so he began to limp on, trying to ignore the voice screaming inside his head that said he was making a mistake.

Just before he was out of earshot Ivan spoke once more in their very own language. "_And Sherlock? When your heart's in flames… Ask yourself if it's worth it. You should've learned by now that caring isn't an advantage._"

Not dignifying the other with any response Sherlock kept walking on, marched with expertedly feigned confidence through the heavy door before him. He blinked once at what he found. Nearly paused.

A pool.

Sherlock didn't know what he'd been expecting. The worst, perhaps. Nothing could've prepared him for what he faced when another door he hadn't even noticed yet opened somewhere behind him.

Just steps away from him stood John. Wearing one of those long, black coats that the younger man knew entirely too well. So many emotions danced in the former soldier's eyes that it was impossible to name them all.

"Evening. This is a turn-up, isn't it, Sherlock?"

* * *

TBC

* * *

(To anyone wondering why Ivan called Sherlock William… It's a little nod towards 'Sherlock' series 3.) (grins)

* * *

A/N: Ugh… Now THAT'S a mess. (winces) Is anyone going to make it out of this alive? Can a story this bleak have a happy(ish) ending?

PLEASE, do leave a note! It seriously makes my heart sing to hear from you guys. (gives one's most irresistable pleading look)

I've really gotta tune out now. (pouts) Until next time, ya all! I really hope that you'll join in for that one.

Take care!


	4. The Big Game

A/N: I was supposed to update just a little bit faster but I ended up getting a flue that messed up my head. (winces) BUUUUUUUT, the new chapter is here now. Hooray?

THANK YOU, so very much, for you reviews and support! This saga's been quite a ride. It feels REALLY good to know that you're still marching with me. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get all sentimental… Let's go! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Quest for Fire

* * *

For a few stilled moments Sherlock could only stare at John, the terrifying familiarity of the situation overwhelming his head. He felt numb until all of a sudden he was experiencing far too much. Because John's steady hands opened the coat, revealing what a part of the detective had already known to expect.

A vest of explosives.

Sherlock swallowed. It was a small miracle that his voice didn't crack when he finally spoke. "Are you alright?"

John nodded slowly. The doctor's eyes scanned him from head to toe. A clearly visible flash of sorrow and ache could be seen as the man took in his injuries. "I… I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock frowned. John wasn't the one who did this to him. The one that forced him into doing things that'd haunt him until the day he died. In a second he understood.

Sentiment.

Shaking off that distracting thought Sherlock forced himself into full focus. He made his way to John, futilely trying to conceal his limp. "Let me see", he demanded.

Cautiously, clearly fearing that even the slightest jostle might set off the bomb, John took off the coat. Just before Sherlock would've proceeded to tear off the offensive thing the smaller man turned, revealing his back. It didn't take long to notice the blood staining the crème-colored jumper. "He… said that he wouldn't make it so easy this time." Irritation and fear danced on the man's face. "I don't know how deep it's attached."

Sherlock bit back a growl, sure that Ivan was listening and not wanting to give the man such satisfaction. Instead he took a moment to let his eyes scan through the room. Five doors. Without a doubt not all of them would be safe.

"Sherlock." John's voice pulled him from his thoughts immediately. The former soldier's eyes seemed a lot darker than usual. "I… know that he gave you the permission to leave. He told me he would. So go."

Sherlock shook his head determinedly, hating even the thought. "No", he announced firmly, his tone full of ice and steel. "Don't be an idiot, John. He wouldn't just let me go. He wants me to watch you die first."

John gritted his teeth so hard that it had to hurt. Took a deep breath. "Then what are we going to do?"

"We'll play his game." Sherlock attempted to estimate time. It was hard to focus on anything else but the numbers counting backwards almost directly on top of John's heart. If they'd manage to buy enough time… "And we'll win."

* * *

When consciousness began to rush right back in the first thing David became aware of was a crushing headache. For a moment it blinded him from all else. Then he caught the barely audible whispers.

"… anything yet?"

"Sorry." The woman, whose voice he couldn't remember hearing before, sounded exhausted. She had a British accent. "He's not out of OR yet. We'll just have to wait." There was a brief pause. "Any change?"

"I think that he's going to wake up soon." That voice… Who…? _Derek…! _"He started frowning a while back. Do you think he needs more pain medication?"

"I'll see what I can do." That was, apparently, when she finally caught the way his fingers were squirming and trying to reach out. A chair screeched a little while he felt her lean closer. "David? Can you hear me?"

It took far more effort than he felt ready for. But in the end David managed to haul his eyelids halfway open. At first he saw blurry figures that felt painful to look at in the far too bright light. After some squinting and a couple of groans focus began to return. A brown haired doctor was looking at him with a soft, encouraging smile on her face. Not much further stood Derek, dressed to a hospital gown. David's heart skipped a beat. What the hell…?!

He remembered a bout of pain, and darkness. And a name.

* * *

/ _"Aaron?"_ /

* * *

The doctor interrupted him right when his mind was sliding towards the state of chaos. "I'm Sarah, a doctor and a friend of John's. Mycroft… requested my assistance." She offered him a look that was probably supposed to be comforting. "You received quite a blow to the head and you've been unconscious for the past couple of hours. So take it easy, alright?"

Ignoring her completely David focused on Derek, a demanding look on his face. His heart was beginning to hammer faster while terror took over. "What happened?"

Derek swallowed loudly, not meeting his eyes. It took torturously long before the man finally spoke. "Aaron… came into the house. I don't know what he was doing there, but… It sounded like he was alone. He hit you with something. And then he started shooting." The mocha skinned agent seemed to shiver. "I found Jack, Rossi. I found him, and we… we were hiding in a closet when the bullets came. Jack… He screamed and then… Then he was completely quiet. He just… He stopped." Derek gritted his teeth, seemed to go through a inner battle. "I screamed, too, and I felt a bullet. That's when all became foggy. I heard a woman, though."

David stiffened. He remembered her, too. She was there, just before the blackness swallowed him up. Her touch. Her voice. The same that once upon a time whispered declarations of love and affection.

* * *

/ _"They're all dead, Aaron. Your son, David, Derek…" The two fingers that'd been lingering on his neck withdrew. "Who would've thought that you had it in you?"_ /

* * *

Why did Eveleen Moriarty let them live?

"Jack was shot, Rossi." Derek's sorrow filled voice, not to even mention those words, were more than enough to pull his chaotic head back to the present. Unshed tears pooled into the younger man's eyes. "One of the bullets hit him, to the chest. And I don't… I don't know if…"

David's heart stopped for a second, right there. He actually gasped. The horror of the situation flooded through him like ice.

_Jesus Christ…!_

The doctor, Sarah, seemed to take that as her cue to leave. "I'll go and see if I can find out anything new." Her lips opened but instead of offering the words she had in mind she left. David was glad. He wasn't in the mood for hearing a 'Everything's going to be alright'.

It seemed to take ages before David found his voice. His eyes strayed towards Derek. "Are you… alright?" he questioned, gesturing towards the other's outfit.

Derek seemed confused for a second, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. It's just a graze to the shoulder."

David nodded slowly. That was a bit of good news, at least, although he could tell that his friend was in pain. "And John?"

Derek's jawline tightened. "Apparently he was missing by the time we were retrieved. I haven't heard of the others." The man's eyes focused on the room's ceiling. "I… I don't know anything, right now. We'll just have to wait for Mycroft."

Silence fell as they indeed waited, both lost on the dangerous paths of their thoughts. Waited without the slightest idea of what was happening. And somehow the world around them felt several degrees darker than before.

* * *

There was a limp in his steps and although he'd managed to wash away the blood Aaron knew that he looked pitiable when he climbed out of a taxi. He gave the intimidated looking driver what little money he had left and marched on. He wouldn't need money where he was headed.

Aaron knew entirely too well that his time was running out. That there was no hope left for him, not anymore. But he could tear down as much as he could of the poisonous web before he'd run out of luck. After everything he'd done… Wasn't this the least he could do?

Besides, with Jack and most likely his team – family – gone, he didn't really have anything left to lose.

The certainty and fearlessness of a doomed man in his eyes Aaron entered a building he'd only been in once before. Remembering each hallway by heart he marched on, his gun held high and adrenaline storming through his veins. He frowned at the sight of bloodstains on the walls.

What was going on?

Before he wondered further a man, just a boy really, rounded the corner. He was one of Eveleen's newest recruits, a unfortunate soul who'd chosen the lesser of two hells. The man's eyes widened for a microsecond before Aaron's bullet had already slammed him down. Aaron tried not to think of how much like Jack the kid looked.

The journey to his destination felt endless. On his way he found quite a bit more blood, along with a couple of more recruits that were taken care of in a flash. Aaron could remember teaching one of them how to use a gun. The bitter irony of it all.

In the end he found what he'd been searching for. The observation room was smaller than Aaron had expected. He paid no mind to what lingered on the many screens everywhere around him. All his focus locked on the fire red haired woman stood directly before him.

He pulled out his gun without any hesitation. Pointed it at her, his finger already tightening. "My son, Eveleen… Was he acceptable collateral damage to you?"

Slowly, slowly the woman turned towards him. At first he saw the gun in her hold. Then the moisture in those wide, shocked eyes. They weren't Eveleen's.

JJ emitted something that could've as well been a gasp or a sob. She didn't lower her weapon. "I… I'm sorry, Aaron."

* * *

During the stunned moments that followed Spencer shooting the intruder Penelope could only stare at the dead man that almost took her life. Somewhere in the middle of that chaos Emily appeared, her own gun prepared. For a few seconds none of them knew what to do. Until Spencer did.

"We need to go. Now." There was a stunning amount of certainty and strength on the only a while ago half-dead man's face. "They'll know that he failed. More of them will appear to finish the job. We need to leave before that happens."

Emily frowned. "Reid, you can barely stand! We can't…"

"I know. But we have to." Spencer's eyes strayed towards the woman's mightily swollen belly. "I've… seen what it can be like, out there. And the baby can't be born there, into their hands. Don't do that to John." It was a low blow, one that Spencer regretted for a moment. But it worked.

For a brief moment Emily's eyes widened with surprise. Then, very slowly, she nodded. Despite Spencer's injuries and Emily's pregnancy it took them less than four minutes to gather what they needed. They all made it a point not to look at the body on their way out.

They were already climbing down the stairs, fast on their way to safety. They might've even made it. But just like so many times before fate wasn't planning on showing them any mercy.

Because just when they were about to leave the building a woman walked in through the front door, her steps full of elegance and determination. There was a small, chilling smile on her lips. And a small, crying child in her arms.

"Well hello there, darling", Eveleen greeted in a deviously pleasant, purring voice. "Did you really think that I wouldn't come and collect you personally? You're the most important name on my list, Spencer. I wouldn't waste this chance to play with you, one last time."

Spencer's eyes narrowed while he moved instinctively so that he was somewhat shielding the women behind him. His heart hammered and it took absolutely everything he had not to focus on the child. His son, whom he hadn't met in almost a year. Who'd been stolen from him such a long time ago. The longing squeezed around his heart until he feared that he wouldn't be able to stand it anymore. "What do you want?"

Eveleen's smile vanished. "I'd think that it's rather obvious." Out of nowhere, it seemed, she took a gun. Pointed it at their son. "Now, unless you want to see just how impatient my trigger finger can be… Go back to the apartment, all three of you. It's time to finish this."

* * *

John could tell that he was shaking while he followed Sherlock through the maze of hallways. Finally, after such a long time, he'd been allowed to actually see the detective. And there was a bomb sitting on his chest.

A bomb that would wipe away them both if it detonated.

There was so much that needed to be said. Had to be talked through. So much that he needed to know and wanted Sherlock to know.

John's lips parted but before he coult utter a single syllable Sherlock's hand flew to the side, stopping him. Confused, he peered downwards and felt a chill go through him at the sight of a lever that the detective was already examining. Whoever knows what it might've triggered.

John frowned, leaning cautiously closer to the lever although he had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to spot anything Sherlock hadn't already. His jaw tightened while he struggled with the desire to glance towards the timer on the vest. "A trap?"

Sherlock nodded tensely. Flames of fury and irritation shone brightly in the man's eyes. "Well. He did say that he wouldn't make it as easy this time."

"Yeah." John felt out of breath, like the weight of the device counting down his remaining life had suddenly weighed half more than before. He licked his lips, feeling nearly frantic. There was so much… "Sherlock…"

He never got the chance to go on, though. Not right then at least. Because all of a sudden there was a hellish, all consuming wave of pain radiating from his back. He gasped and shuddered, sheer willpower keeping him from plunging to his knees.

What the hell…?!

And then, while the immediate surge of agony passed, he could actually feel it. The vest just grew tighter. It'd most likely keep doing so until it'd be ripped off.

"John?" Sherlock's voice drifted to his consciousness, very faintly at first. Looking up he found a pair of eyes that held a astonishing amount of supressed emotions in their depths. "John! What's wrong?"

John looked at his friend and all of a sudden no further explanations were needed. Naked terror the kind the doctor didn't remember seeing ever before took over the detective's eyes. The gravity of the situation made the air around them so heavy that for a moment it was hard to breathe.

"We're going to take it off", Sherlock announced in the end, sounding so very determined and confident that it offered even John a touch of comfort. "But we need to hurry. Before it tightens again."

They were about to start the process when in what was nothing more than a blink the entire building went pitch-black as electricity vanished. For a second or two it was eerily quiet. Then they heard the unmistakable sound of a safety-door banging closed, sealing them in.

* * *

It was uncomfortably quiet in the apartment while the four of them and a small, still whimpering child sat there. Casting fleeting glances of doubt and mistrust towards each other. Each of them counting seconds. Spencer gritted his teeth.

Where the hell were Mycroft's men? Shouldn't they be there already? Their response time wasn't supposed to be this slow.

"I sent him a little message. Told him that it might not be a good idea to… interfere." Eveleen smiled sweetly, pulling their son just a little closer despite the child's resistance. "I hope that you don't mind. I wanted to meet you without any unnecessary interruptions."

It took a lot of Spencer to keep his emotions in check. He lifted his chin a little, struggling not to look at poor little Danny who was much too young to understand what was going on. "You're going to kill me." It wasn't even a question, it was a solid fact. Unless he'd manage to find a way around this.

"I believe that the original deal was that I'd burn you. Burn your heart." Eveleen caressed the child in a way that made Danny cry out with displeasure and Penelope gasp. Her eyes never once strayed from his. They seemed to see too much. "But… Yes. Once I've done that… Once I've made you beg for it… Then, yes. I will be the death of you. And I, my love… will enjoy it."

A very odd sensation of numbness filled Spencer while he kept looking at her. He balled his fists, tasted something very unpleasant on the tip of his tongue. Then he looked at his son, into those eyes that'd never seen anything evil in anyone.

His heart began to beat just a little bit faster.

"You… You can't do this!" Penelope cried out. There were tears in her eyes and her hands were shaking. "Danny, he's… He's your son, too! You can't just…!"

Eveleen tilted her head. For the first time since they sat her attention shifted from Spencer. "Yes. He's my flesh and blood. I gave him a life. It took me thirty-nine weeks and three days, then thirty-two more hours of agony. It was one of the hardest things that I've ever done and I nearly bled to death while doing it." In a tantalising manner her gun shifted on Danny, eventually pointed towards the child's head. "Taking his life… Now wouldn't it be much easier?"

Exactly two seconds later a gunshot rang out.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Okay… So… (takes a deep breath) Things are coming closer and closer to the inevitable end. There'll be tears and blood before this is all over. The East Wind is coming. (Those who've seen 'Sherlock' series 3 get what I mean. The others… Don't worry, you'll know!)

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do let me know! It'd feel super good to hear from you. (gives puppy's eyes)

I've really gotta go now. There's a bed calling out my name. (yawns) Until next time, ya all! I really hope that every single one of you will stay tuned until then.

Take care!


	5. Our Darkest Hour

A/N: Guess what? Another fast update! Hooray…? This chapter just sort of typed itself, with me having very little control over it. We'll see how it all turned out… (smirks)

First, though… THANK YOU, so very, very much, for your reviews! I'm REALLY excited to discover that even though we're almost through a trilogy there's still a firm crew of lovely people reading this tale. (BEAMS)

Awkay, because I highly doubt that you came here for a page long author's note… Let's rock! I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Total Eclipse

* * *

Sherlock could hear John breathing hard in the dark. He could picture the expression on the soldier's face while the man fought to regain control over himself. Subtly and far more silently he matched his breaths with the army doctor's.

In. Out. Repeat.

They'd beat this, they'd beat Ivan.

"Do you think that the bastard did this on purpose?" John asked, his voice a touch smaller than usual. "I mean, the lights."

Sherlock inhaled once more. Nice and deep. "Who knows." He gritted his teeth when pain shot through him. He just wanted this entire nightmare to be over. "Now let's get started. We've wasted enough time already."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Just…" The doctor swallowed loudly. "Let me sit down first, alright? I don't… It wouldn't a good idea to fall down in the middle of…"

"Yes, of course."

Sherlock waited until he could tell for sure that John was safely on the floor. Then, biting his lip along the way when his injuries screamed loud protests, he sat down as well. It took several agonizingly long moments before he found the will to reach out and grab the vest that was counting down on top of John's heart. "I… don't know how deep it's attached", he admitted with reluctance that brought a bitter taste into his mouth. _Or if this can be removed without tools._

"It's okay." Those words might've been far more convincing if John hadn't been trembling. "Just do it."

Telling himself that it was like ripping off a bandaid Sherlock searched with his long fingers, eventually finding metallic spikes that seemed to sink into John's skin. He thought about telling that he was sorry but decided against it. What good would those words do?

Instead he grabbed the metal. Then, steeling himself and biting his teeth together as hard as he possibly could, he pulled, with such force that in the end his hands were bleeding. When John broke down into a scream of sheer agony Sherlock found himself wanting to do the same.

* * *

Excluding Danny, who was screaming at the top of his lungs out of sheer terror, the whole room held its breath while the gunshot's echo died out slowly, leaving their ears ringing. For a moment it was unclear what happened. Then, turning their heads slowly, they saw a bullet hole that'd appeared to a nearby wall.

"That…", Eveleen announced in a smooth yet very clearly threatening voice. "… was a warning. Stop testing my nerves unless you want me to grow irritated." Her eyes flashed when she pulled Danny closer. "Trust me, you wouldn't like me when I'm irritated."

Spencer felt every single one of his muscles stiffen. He refused to look away from the criminal. "What do you want?" he spat out.

Eveleen smiled in a way that most definitely couldn't be trusted. She got up deliberately slowly and made her way to where he was sitting, never once even glancing towards the child – her own son – who was crying desperately in her arms. In the end she sat on his lap, her gaze colliding firmly with his and a gun pressing threateningly against the side of his head. She leaned closer, only Danny separating them. "What I want…", she purred. "… is to make you suffer." She smirked, tilting her head and bringing her lips to his ear. "I'm aware of the fact that my playtime with you is limited. So I'd better get busy."

Spencer couldn't even pull in a proper breath before there was a new gunshot. It took a second before the hellish, searing pain radiating from his leg registered. He gritted his teeth, determined not to scream in front of Eveleen. His vision faltered but in the end focused on Danny. He wasn't planning on giving up, not when he had this much to lose. He'd been fighting too hard, much too long.

Penelope's scream still echoed in the air by the time he managed to hear. "… id!"

Eveleen chuckled and shook her head, appearing oblivious to the child screaming and struggling in her hold. "What a brave boy you are." She tapped his nose twice with the barrel of the gun. "Do you honestly think that it's going to get you anywhere, though?"

Spencer gritted his teeth, struggling to focus. His voice came out gruff but determined. "Prentiss, Garcia and Danny… They have no part in this, Eveleen." He knew that it was hopeless but he had to try. His only comfort was that at least JJ hadn't returned. She wouldn't have to be a part of this sick game.

"No part? Spencer, don't insult my intelligence." Eveleen leaned closer, whispered into his ear once more. The weapon pressed against his chest made it impossible for him to move an inch. "I'll send them away for a moment because we need a private chat. But don't worry, love. I'll make sure that they're right here to watch you die. And you'll know that they're all dead because of your failure." The metal pressed harder. "You left me to rot in a jail. You should've known better."

Penelope and Emily protested. Danny kept crying in a way that broke Spencer's heart. But he barely heard it. Because almost faster than his eye caught it Eveleen's hand moved, the gun flashing towards his head. And then there was nothing but pain and darkness.

* * *

JJ's hand didn't appear stable as she pointed the gun at Aaron and there was a massive amount of remorse swimming in her tear-filled eyes. But she didn't back down. Didn't put the gun away. "They… They told me that you'd come. That you've become a threat that must be eliminated. And… They said that if I won't my kids…"

Aaron was surprised by the fact that he felt perfectly calm. In those endless moments he felt far more lucid than he ever had since the beginning of this whole insanity. "I understand." And he did. He'd done terrible, unspeakable, things for Jack, too, before… "But if you think that killing me is a way out of this…"

JJ shook her head. A couple of tears escaped. "I don't. I know that I'm never, ever going to get out of this. But if this keeps my kids alive…" She inhaled a gasp-like breath. "I… I'm sorry, Aaron. I'm so sorry."

Aaron had always been an excellent shooter. But in those few seconds he hesitated. And it cost him dearly.

JJ pulled the trigger, visibly struggling to keep looking at him as she did so. And before he could even twitch the bullet tore through Aaron's chest. For exactly two heartbeats he remained upright, his stunned, dazed gaze locked to JJ's terrified, heartbroken one. And then he was on his way down into a sea of darkness and pain.

Ironically, the wound on his chest was in the exact same spot as Jack's.

* * *

The spikes went deep into John. A rather large part of Sherlock wondered if the depth was too much. Quite quickly he decided that he preferred not knowing. Instead he focused on how very still John had become all of a sudden.

"John?" he called out, alarm bells going off inside his head. He went on after receiving a small, faint moan. "I know that this is taking too long and that it hurts. But I'm almost done. Do you hear me? It's almost over."

John took a loud, hungry gulp of air. Then shuddered. "Okay." It was barely audible but nonetheless very much welcomed. The former soldier was still awake and hanging on tight.

Sherlock focused and pulled, with every little bit of strength there was left in him. Despite his best attempts he was entirely too aware of the breathless mew of pain John emitted under his rough ministrations. And then, so suddenly that it surprised them both, it was done.

Although just this once knowing was the pretty much last thing Sherlock wanted he couldn't stop his fingers from feeling the spikes. They were long, entirely too much so, and slick with moisture. There was no telling how much damage they'd done.

He'd have to get John into a hospital, as fast as possible.

"John?" he called out, surprised to discover that his voice sounded rather steady. There was no response. "John, are you with me?"

For far too long there was nothing. Then a small, somewhat choked sound came out. "That… was upleasant."

For second or two Sherlock stared towards his friend's assumed location. Then snorted and gathered himself with a brand new breath. "Do you think you'll be able to stand?"

John didn't say anything for a moment. When the doctor finally spoke there was a small lisp that the detective didn't like. It disappeared quickly, though. "Just… give me a second, will you?" The smaller man was moving, most likely rubbing his face. Then sighed. "Are you alright?"

Caught off guard by the unexpected question Sherlock froze for a second. He nodded although he knew full well that it couldn't be seen. "Yes." He bit his teeth together through a wave of discomfort and rubbed his hands to his coat, trying not to guess whether the blood was his or John's. "Now let's leave before that bomb goes off."

"And how, exactly, are we going to do that?"

Both putting a great deal of effort into not focusing on each other's or their own physical discomfort they looked around, attempting to discover a way out. Sherlock's heart sunk when he realized that there was none. Firstly, they couldn't see a thing. And secondly, there was no telling what kind of traps might be waiting for them in the dark. Considering the condition they were in taking such a risk didn't seem appealing to him. Plus he'd heard a door banging closed when the lights went off. Chances were that it was their only way out.

They were in a firmly closed, pitch-black space, both of them injured. Bleeding and exhausted. With a bomb that was ticking on fast. All alone, save the security cameras that were without a doubt still monitoring their every move.

Or perhaps they weren't completely alone.

Because just then the sounds of gunshots reached their ears. Still quite distant but approaching steadily. And they had no idea if things were finally starting to work out or headed downhill very fast. In three more seconds the sounds were so close that they had to come from behind the sadoor sealing them in.

At that very moment the lights came back, blinding them.

* * *

The second the metallic door before them was locked firmly time lost all meaning to Penelope and Emily. Their whole remaining world consisted of a tiny, stuffy room that had a oil lamp providing a beam of light. Their only hope lay on Spencer. But with each frantic heartbeat that hope grew fainter and fainter. The fact that Eveleen had left Danny with them didn't make things any easier. The child had cried himself to sleep, which they welcomed gladly. It was enough that the adults were restless and panicking.

To focus on something else but the surreal amount of terror and threat looming on the whole situation Penelope examined Danny. Careful not to disturb the child's rest she made sure that there were no injuries. Somewhere along the way Danny sneezed, wrinkled his nose and sighed, then went right back to sleep. Despite everything the adorable sight brought a wave of much needed warmth into Penelope.

"Is he okay?" Emily inquired tensely.

Penelope nodded and waited for a beat before speaking. "He doesn't have any wounds or bruises and it looks like he's been fed properly." She couldn't keep herself from staring at the little one. "He… looks just like Boywonder."

"I know", Emily murmured softly. There was a pause. "Do you think that Reid's okay, up there?"

Penelope bit her lower lip. "Well, you know him. He's probably holding on with tooth and nail." At very least she hoped so, from the bottom of her heart. It wasn't until then she finally spotted the way Emily was frowning, grimacing and pacing. Penelope frowned. Her eyes scanned through her friend, unable to spot anything alarming. "What's wrong?"

Emily scoffed. "You mean aside being locked up into this dungeon like animals?" The brunette winced. "I've just… been having these cramps for a while now. They keep getting stronger."

Penelope swallowed loudly. Panic tingled as it coursed through her veins. "Those… They're… They're not cramps, sweetie. They're contractions." There was hysteria in her voice. "You're in labor."

* * *

When consciousness began to return to him a waiting game started for Spencer. He couldn't hear his son or Emily and Penelope anymore, which meant that Eveleen had most likely moved them somewhere else until later time. The smell and sounds around him were different, which meant that at some point there'd been a change of location for him as well. He didn't have the faintest idea of where he was anymore. Eveleen was moving around, not restlessly but rather exploring the space like she'd been looking for something. At some point he heard her talking to a cell phone but couldn't quite make out the words. She didn't sound pleased. Spencer hoped that it meant that at least something in the whole nightmare was going right.

With his eyes closed and head hung low Spencer began to operate. Subtly and without making the slightest bit of sound his hands moved, beginning to loosen his wrists from the metallic binds around them. He didn't stop when his skin felt raw and tender. Or when he felt droplets of blood. Because he could feel that he was getting closer to his goal.

His instincts sharpened when he heard Eveleen coming closer. All of a sudden no amount of pain made any difference. He'd have to finish this _now_ or he'd never, ever get another chance.

She approached slowly, almost lazily, then sat on his lap once again. It took absolutely everything there was in Spencer to refrain from screaming out loud when, without a doubt intentionally, she jabbed his gunshot wound. For a moment his head swayed and spun, until he focused on the sound of her breaths.

In. Out. In. Out.

Eveleen chuckled. Something metallic that wasn't a gun brushed his throat. "You can drop the act, love. I know that you're awake." Through a bit of blur he found her smiling icily at him. "That's more like it. I was worried that I'd have to shoot you again to get your attention."

Spencer held her gaze as well as he could while still trying to catch his breath. "Not… the first time you shot at me."

She shrugged. Something close to amusement flickered in her eyes. "You did shoot me first. Remember?"

Spencer gritted his teeth when she shifted, disturbing the wound. "Where are they?" he growled. His wrists were almost free. Soon…

Eveleen's eyes flashed. She shook her head. "Why such rush? We played house for over a year. Surely you can give me a few more minutes before I kill you." She seemed to be deep in thought while she looked into his eyes, as though searching. "That time with you… I must admit that it wasn't entirely unpleasant. But a life like that… It just doesn't suit people like us." She brushed his forehead with her fingertip. "You need the stimulation of blood, death and danger, no matter how little you like to admit it. And I… Well, I have an empire to rule."

It took a couple of seconds. But then, slowly yet inevitably, the gravity of those words began to sink in. A small breath left Spencer. "You…"

Eveleen Moriarty smiled. There were flames of fury and chaos in her eyes. "I ordered every single one of those bombs to go off. The one that was put into Dr. Watson's head… I planned it myself. I was also right there watching when his family blew up, for I was the one who made the bomb detonate. I was also there to create the virus. I've been there, every single time. By the pool with Sherlock and John. Watching Sherlock fall from the rooftop of a hospital. Observing the trials of your team. Keeping an eye on your cases, working with twisted souls like George Foyet. I've been controlling it all and observing, waiting for the moment when you're all just broken enough to be torn apart. You lot have been a thorn in my side for too long." She sighed, sounding like someone approaching the very peak of enjoyment. "Chaos, Spencer. That's my true power. My weapon." She leaned closer, so that he felt her breath. "There was always a Moriarty in charge over everything. From the very beginning. But James… He was just a puppy that I ordered to be put down when he became a nuisance. And Ivan… He may be the King of my of kingdom." Her perfect white teeth were those of a predator, as was the chuckle she gave. "But the web of Moriarty has always been led by the Queen."

Spencer lifted his chin a little, so that they were eye to eye. "You…", he hissed under his breath. His wrists were finally free. "I will stop you."

Eveleen shrugged. "You can try." She pressed the gun firmly against his stomach. "But you're fighting the thunderstorm alone now, love. And you're losing."

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh dear… No one's safe right now. How is this whole mess going to end? And is it already over for Hotch?

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know your thoughts! Hearing from you always makes my day.

I've gotta tune out now. Until next time, ya all! 'Hope I'll see each and every single one of you there.

Take care!


	6. In Birth and Death

A/N: It's time for a brand-new chapter! (grins) Yay?

BUT, before getting to that… THANK YOU, so very much, for your reviews! You're definitely helping with keeping this story floating. (HUGS)

Because I'm a bit short of time, let's get to the actual business, shall we? (gulps) I truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

Purgatory

* * *

Sherlock and John prepared themselves for everything when the door opened and the sounds around them grew louder, more aggressive. The encounter wouldn't be a friendly one and they were unarmed, as well as injured. This could get very unpleasant.

There were shouts. More gunshots echoed, sharper and louder this time. A different gun, a different calibre. It was around then John's eyes finally grew used to the added amount of light. A gasp erupted through his lips. Beside him Sherlock blinked once, hiding his surprise with practised ease, stoic and as in control as usual. In any other situation it might've amused or irritated John. As it was he only had eyes for the sight before him.

Five men lay on the floor, dead. Only one person remained standing. A woman – _The_ Woman.

Irene Adler's face remained unreadable as ever but had a tension she wasn't able to disguise. "I don't know how Ivan caught on this quickly. But we need to go, now." She nodded towards the corpses with no emotion. "There'll be more of these."

John blinked rapidly, struggling to keep up. As though he'd ever really had any hope of managing that. "Sherlock, what…? What the bloody hell is going on?" And why was he always the one who found out all plans the last?

Sherlock's jaw tightened for a microsecond. "Now isn't the time, John." The detective checked the time. Was he waiting for something? Aside the bomb that was still in the same room with them going off, of course. "We need to go."

John stared. Then scoffed. "With _her_? Are you completely…?!"

"Yes, most likely." A comfortingly familiar spark of impatience shimmered in Sherlock's eyes. A glimmer of hope that perhaps one day things might be alright once more. "Now let's go. Unless, of course, you'd rather sit around waiting for the timer to hit zero."

John glanced towards Irene. "I'm not sure if that'd be safer."

She flashed him a far from coy smirk. Somehow that was more threatening then the gun in her hand. "Well, aren't you a funny one. No wonder Sherlock likes you so much."

They had no time for further exchange. There was a new set of steps. With a single, perfectly aimed shot Irene took down the threat, then searched the covers of her long, red coat. John was so surprised by the gun thrown his way that he nearly failed to catch it.

Irene gave a brief, breathless chuckle. "Stay sharp, captain Watson." She began to head towards the door. "Ladies first, no?"

The two of them gave no objections. While they followed her John could only hope that they were indeed approaching something good rather than a trap. He gulped loudly, his fingers tightening around the metal.

For the about a millionth time since he met Sherlock John had absolutely no bloody clue of what was going on.

Still, or perhaps therefore, he followed.

* * *

Spencer barely heard what Eveleen was saying to him. Holding his gaze he stretched his fingers, savoured the feeling of his wrists finally being free. And then, summoning all the strength adrenaline had brought into his body, he kicked with his good leg.

Unable to react fast enough Eveleen was thrown backwards. Her head hit the wall roughly, coaxing a growl of fury from her. Spencer wasted no time. He took the gun that'd slipped from her grasp and aimed. There wasn't a trace of tremble in his hold.

Recovering from surprise and the blow she'd received Eveleen chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, sweetie… Are you really trying to fight?" She glanced towards the weapon and tilted her head. "Now why don't you put that thing away?"

Spencer's eyes narrowed. The pain pulsating in his shot leg was crushing but he wasn't about to let it show. "On your knees. Now."

Eveleen pursed her lips, as though actually considering, then shook her head. "I'd rather not. It doesn't suit me outside the bedroom." She smirked. "We did play house for quite a long time. I'm sure that you remember." She walked closer with teasing, confident steps. Her eyes were mischievous and full of danger. "Pull the trigger, Spencer."

It was Spencer's turn to smirk. "I already have. This is finishing it all nice and quick." His finger twitched once and squeezed.

Nothing happened.

Eveleen laughed. "Lesson number one, darling. If you ever bring a firearm into a confrontation, prepare for a situation in which it may be turned against you." She revealed the clip to him. "Hard to fire without bullets, I'd assume."

A growl of frustration crawled through Spencer's lips while he allowed the useless piece of metal to fall. Not planning on rewarding her with words he watched as she made her way to him. Waited, like a very patient predator.

"I'd like to chat a bit longer but I'm afraid that we're on a clock." She poked his nose with one finger, like she often did when they were still playing pretend. "You've been a very nice little pet to play with."

The knife came out of nowhere but Spencer was prepared. With his instincts sharpened to the extreme he blocked her attack, then swung his fist towards her face. She dodged easily, twisted her body and aimed a firm kick towards him. Growling, he caught her ankle into a firm hold.

Eveleen grinned frostily. "Still annoyingly stubborn, then. Well, let's do it your way, then. Long and hard."

It was a mad showdown of punches and swings. Spencer fought back with all his might but it didn't change the fact that his leg had been shot. There was only so much he could do with drastically limited mobility.

In the end the crucial moment was upon them in a flash. One of his strikes sent Eveleen down. She didn't stay still, though. With her hands pressed hard against the floor she threw her legs forward and sideways, towards his chair. The wood gave in easily, sending him down harshly.

Out of breath from the impact and the tidal wave of pain that ensued Spencer gasped twice, attempting to regain focus. He didn't manage fast enough. Just when the black spots dancing in his line of vision began to fade Eveleen was already upon him.

She didn't say a word. Didn't have to. It was all visible on her face.

She rammed her foot down mercilessly, crushing his side. A new surge of pain would've made Spencer scream if there'd been any breath left in him. Broken ribs, at least two of them. Then she took the knife once more and knelt. Before he'd even had the time to properly process the first attack the blade had sunk as deep as it possibly went into his stomach.

Eveleen looked into his eyes. There was something bizarre and chilling in her gaze. "I have to go now, love. But don't worry. I've made sure that you won't die alone." She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, sealing him into a kiss that tasted of blood, betrayal and hazard. Then, with a one more look towards him, she was on her way out. "Goodbye, Spencer."

* * *

The scream that tore through Emily was something that shouldn't have come out of a human being. She hollered with the sheer force of a wounded wild animal, every little part of her body screaming 'PAIN'. A quite extensive list of curses in several different languages echoed in the tiny room's walls.

Penelope wasn't startled. There was nothing but determination in her eyes. "Stop wasting your breath, Emily! Focus on getting your child into the world."

Emily growled in a threatening manner, casting a glare she'd regret later towards her friend. "Shut… the… fuck… up!"

In the end it was Emily who shut up. Almost, anyway. Her howls became much smaller snarls, muttered under nearly held breath.

Breathe. Push. Breathe. Push. That became her new mantra._ GET THIS FUCKING THING OVER WITH!_

Just then, through the haze of pain and overwhelming emotions, a thought crossed her. She frowned. The name slipped out before she could stop herself. "John…"

Penelope frowned, seeming surprised and confused. "John? Oh…!" The woman tried to smile and failed. "Don't worry, okay? We'll… We'll get you to a doctor soon, okay? Don't worry."

Emily didn't even hear. Once the damns had been broken there was no stopping the flood. "It's… It's his baby, too." She winced and groaned, tried to keep pushing. "He's… He should be here." It was the first time she admitted John's paternity to someone out loud. That she admitted how significant a meaningless, drunken night between two friends who needed comfort had become. They weren't in love, there was nothing romantic at all between them, but they created a miracle. It was a surprise that they'd managed to keep it a secret from most of the group for this long, especially with how protective John became over the baby once the pregnancy began to truly show.

Penelope's eyes widened when realization dawned. "Are you serious…?" Seeing her need for comfort the blonde took her hand. "Hey, don't worry. John will be back for the baby soon, okay? They all will be. And we'll get out of this mess, like we always do. So… Don't worry." This time the grin seemed a bit more genuine. "The little one's almost with us. You'll get to meet your son or daughter soon."

A yet another wave of agony washing through her Emily screamed, tossing all self restraints to the wind. Screamed and pushed. Again. And again.

Then, sooner than she could've ever dared to hope, a brand new, shrill yet beautiful cry mixed with hers.

* * *

/ _All of it happened in a slowed motion. The single hit with which Aaron took David down, feeling something deep within his soul being torn to shreds. The sounds he heard from behind a door. The bullets. And then, in the middle of all the chaos, a single crystal clear scream._

_"DADDY!"_

_Blood, so very much of it. On Derek. On Jack. His own son's blood, tainting his hands. His son's, whom he'd sworn to protect until his dying breath. Then another razor sharp breath of clarity. Eveleen's voice._

_"He's dead, Aaron. They all are."_

_Eveleen disappeared. Time faded away. All Aaron saw was Jack, his son pale, still and unmoving –lifeless. Gone, because of bullets he fired._

_All of a sudden Mycroft Holmes was there. Towered above him, casting a threatening shadow over him. There was a unreadable expression on the man's face. "You have two minutes and thirty seconds before the police gets here. Use that time well, agent Hotchner. Do you understand?"_

_Aaron nodded dazedly. Hard as he tried he couldn't bring himself to look at his son again. No, he didn't understand anything. Not anymore._

_"We'll take care of them."_

_Those words were swept away from Aaron's consciousness. Nearly the entire world was. All he could focus on was the gun in his eerily steady hold._

_'_Use that time well._'_

_Ah, yes. Of course. He knew what to do._

_He was, however, frozen. Like his body hadn't been under his own command anymore. And then Gregory Lestrade was there with his men._

_"No one can help me."_ /

* * *

Sally Donovan's eyes widened when she dashed towards a long ago abandoned warehouse and found her boss. There was a nasty looking gash on his forehead and he seemed to be favoring his right leg but he was alive and standing. Which, having seen the wreck his car had become, was more than she'd dared to hope for before his phone call. "What the bloody hell is going on?" she cried out, realizing too late that the volume was most likely too much for his head. When there was no response she tried again. "Are you alright?"

Greg nodded. His expression became something a little more firm. "Yeah, I will be."

Satisfied but no entirely convinced Sally nodded, glancing around. She frowned upon noticing something. "Where's the suspect?"

"Inside. I traced his cell phone and decided to wait for backup."

Sally's lips opened. All words, however, died into her throat when a gunshot echoed from the building. They exchanged a look of alarm before beginning to sprint towards the direction of the sound, Greg's limp forgotten. A cold shiver crossed Sally at the sight that met them.

Aaron Hotchner lay on the floor, a heavily bleeding gunshot wound on his chest. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest revealed that he was still alive. Barely. There wasn't a trace left on the shooter.

"Jesus Christ…!" Greg was on the move, ignoring his injuries. He crashlanded to the badly wounded man's side, shaking fingers trying for a pulse. "Aaron, hang in there, do you hear me? Stay with me." The DI cast a sharp, determined look towards her. "Call a bloody ambulance!"

Aaron, on the other hand, was drifting away from his nightmare into something entirely different. Into something far deeper. The shadows wrapped around him hungrily until everything filled with white and light. It was… snowing.

Blinking with stun and desperately attempting to clear his head Aaron got up slowly, looking around. Everything was covered in snow but he felt completely warm. At peace.

That was when he saw Jack. A bright smile took over his son's face. "Dad, you came!"

* * *

John didn't know how long they'd been running, could no longer count how many members of the criminal web had been taken down and how many traps they'd dodged in the process. But in the end the front door was right there before them. Just steps away.

They gave each other suspicious looks, all of them tense and wary. So… This was it? There were no more guards left by the door. They'd just walk out.

How… anti-climatic.

Which was why John didn't trust it, at all.

"Hurry up, you two!" Irene hissed, her eyes darting around. They all sensed a approaching presence. "We need to go, now. It's almost time."

'Time for what?!' John felt ready to snarl but decided not to waste his breath. When it came to those two such questions were futile. And he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted to know.

From the corner of his eye John saw Sherlock take a step as he did. But that was where the progress ended. So suddenly that John almost gave a shout of startle Sherlock fell to his knees with a breathless, nearly soundless scream of pain.

Alarmed, the doctor examined his friend with his gaze. His heart was hammering madly. "Sherlock? What's wrong?"

That's when he noticed the way Sherlock body spasmed barely visibly. No further words were needed. A electric jolt. But where did it…?

A deep, purr like chuckle floated to their ears, bringing chills through John. With slow, savouring steps Ivan stepped forward from the shadows. There was no expression on the man's face but those eyes spoke volumes. "I'm really, really disappointed in you three. Did you really think that you'd get away that easily? That I'd just let you run away without making you pay?" The criminal genius clicked his tongue. "No, I won't do such a thing." The man checked the time. "According to my count we have six minutes and thirty-eight seconds left. Why don't we make the most out of them?"

* * *

Spencer fought furiously to stay awake while the much too familiar steps approached. He would've liked to turn his head to see better but couldn't find the strength and will. So he waited, struggling for a proper breath.

Perhaps he blacked out at some point, after all. Because the shadow looming above him was blurry. He frowned, attempting to see better. And then he did, no matter how little he would've liked to. For he found himself staring at Sebastian Moran. At a man who pretended to be his uncle, who was supposed to be dead. Who fell with him once upon a time. He wasn't surprised, though.

Moran smirked icily, kneeling to his level. "Hello there, Spencer. Did you miss me?"

Spencer attempted to move but pain rooted him to the spot. He groaned, his fingers squirming in a infuriatingly helpless manner. "You… I knew…"

Moran smiled. "Well, you always were a smart one. Of course I wouldn't be killed that easily. Especially when I knew that I still had some unfinished business." The man leaned closer and whispered. "I was there after your little fall, you know. Watching Sherlock and that doctor couple saving you in the forest. You can't even imagine how infuriating it was to stay dead for this long, observing your pathetic attempts of terminating the Moriarty web. You even disappeared on me a couple of times." The criminal brushed his cheek with a cold hand. "But I'm here now, nephew. Watching your final breaths. This time I'll make sure that you stay dead. And before that, I'll ensure that you know with utmost certainty that you've lost."

Spencer knew that his chances of surviving this were slim. That the injuries he had were grave. But despite that he grinned, not caring about the taste of blood in his mouth. "Who… said that I'd… lose?"

Moran frowned, instantly suspicious. The man never had time for questions, though. Because just then a red spot appeared to dance on the criminal's forehead.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: It's all officially coming to an end now. (gulps) How will this whole mess end? Who will be alive in the end?

PLEASE, do leave a word or two to let me know your thoughts! It'd be super good to hear from you.

I've gotta tune out now. (pouts) Until next time, folks! I really hope that you'll all join in for that one.

Take care!


	7. To Hell…

A/N: Guess what, folks? The new chapter is here! (grins) Yay?

FIRST, though… THANK YOU, a million times, for you reviews and love for this story! This trilogy's been quite a ride. It feels good to know that you're still sticking around. (BEAMS, and hugs)

Awkay, before I get all sentimental… Let's go! I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride.

* * *

To Hell…

* * *

/ _Spencer had barely recovered from the plunge down the cliff he took when he half-stumbled into a almost empty movie theater, feeling slightly uncomfortable with his altered appearance. He wasn't the only one wearing a disguise that late evening. It took him far longer than it should've to recognize the man sitting a couple of rows ahead. Making sure that it was just the two of them he finally dared to approach._

_Sitting beside the other man Spencer wasn't sure which one he found more amusing. The movie, a horrid and very cheap Europian erotic thriller, or his companion's appearance. Thick framed eyeglasses, loose pants, a worn black jacket and a baseball cap._

_Mycroft Holmes gave him a far from impressed look before focusing his eyes straight ahead once more. "I'd very much appreciate it if you didn't mention this to my brother." There was a small pause before the movie's sounds picked up once more, enough to cover their talk. "He would've wanted to be here in person but we agreed that this is far less risky."_

_Despite the grave situation Spencer's lips twitched upwards. He could imagine the talk that took place between the brothers. He was sure that Sherlock wasn't pleased to be left out._

_So deep in thought he was that he shivered when Mycroft handed a package towards him. "That should be everything you need", the British government explained. "Passports. A list of some emergency contacts. The location of your first safehouse. A gun. Please, be careful with it. I'd hate to clean up unnecessary mess."_

_Spencer nodded slowly, accepting the offering and moving it swiftly to the covers of his bag. His heart was beating a lot faster than normal when realization dawned. This was the beginning of his time on the run. The real beginning of his life as a dead man. "Thank you."_

_Not bothering to respond Mycroft got up. The man's nose wrinkled with distaste at the movie. "Do be careful", the government official adviced on his way away. "A lot of people are looking forward to your return. Don't fail them."_

_Spencer swallowed, feeling very cold all of a sudden. The faces of all those he was forced to leave behind flashed by his eyes. "You'll… take care of them, won't you?"_

_"You know as well as I do that there's no promising that." Mycroft didn't look back while continuing on. "Goodnight." With that the most powerful man of England vanished like a ghost._ /

* * *

Despite the pain he was in, forgetting about the fact that his time was running out, Spencer smirked as he watched the red spot on Moran's forehead. "We knew… that you were alive. Watching. Waiting." Each word was a struggle but he was far too determined to care. "We wondered what… it'd take to lure you out. I knew."

Moran smirked as well. It was the smile of a doomed man embracing their fate. "You knew that I couldn't resist the opportunity to watch you die."

Spencer held the other's gaze. He fought against the fog wanting to take over his vision. "Told them… to wait. To let it happen."

Moran scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What a noble martyr you are." The criminal brushed his face. "You may have won this one, Spencey. But trust me, you and your silly little team will lose the war."

The taste of blood filled Spencer's mouth when he unleashed a small chuckle. "You… have no idea what you were… up against", he revealed, nearly losing his voice. "_Our_ web… goes deeper than you could ever imagine."

Moran frowned. The man, however, never had the time for questions. Because in that exact moment they heard the sound of a window breaking. A bullet slammed right into Moran's head, sinking neatly between the man's eyes.

For a few more moments Spencer held on to consciousness, just to make sure that the criminal was truly gone. Seeing no signs of life he allowed his body to slump further to the floor. The last thing he saw before darkness came was Moran's hand, no more than an inch from his. As he sank into the shadows their blood pooled to the floor and mixed.

On the rooftop of the opposite block of flats Ashley Seaver put down her gun and ran.

* * *

/ _Ashley Seaver's heart was beating unhealthily fast while she watched Aaron aiming his gun at her, a unreadable look in his eyes. Watched, praying from the bottom of her heart and soul. And then he fired._

_The bullet hit the wall behind her._

_"Moriarty's web will go down. But we need all the help we can get." He spoke so quietly that she had to strain her hearing to catch it. Her heart skipped a beat when he pulled out a needle, preparing it._

_Ashley gulped loudly. "What…?"_

_"She needs to believe that you're dead." For once there were genuine emotions in his eyes. A lot of them. "We don't have a lot of time, so hold very still and listen." With those words he'd already pierced her skin with the needle. She bit her lip to keep a cry of surprise at bay. He didn't waste time before going on. "You'll wake up at the morgue. Molly Hooper will provide you with what you need. Once you're ready find Mycroft Holmes. He'll explain the plan to you." He gritted his teeth hard. "The others… Tell them that I'm sorry." In any other situation it might've sounded far too much like a goodbye to her._

_Ashley nodded faintly. Her eyelids were already drooping. She could actually feel her heartbeat slowing down. "I will." Those were the last words she spoke before dying to stay alive._ /

* * *

The air around them was tense while Sherlock, John and Irene watched how Ivan stepped out. There was a gun in the man's hold. Looking into those eyes that were far too much like his Sherlock felt the full finality of the situation. He counted minutes in his head. If he'd manage to prolong this for just a couple of more minutes…

"Electric shocks, Ivan?" He took a step closer, then another. "I imagined that you'd have more imagination."

Ivan shrugged. One corner of the man's mouth twitched upwards. "What can I say? I'm a bit old-fashioned."

Sherlock's eyes fell lower, meeting the gun. For a moment he toyed with the question whether he'd be fast enough… "So you're going to end it with a bullet."

"Yes." The safety was off. "It's a shame, really. You could've watched the world burn by my side." Ivan sighed. "Don't worry, John will also be on his way soon. I'm afraid that he won't be going where the two of us are headed, though."

The mention of John's name made Sherlock move – and at that exact moment a gunshot echoed.

* * *

In operating theaters right next to each other doctors and nurses were fighting furiously to save the lives of Aaron and Jack Hotchner. Orders were barked while experienced hands worked on wounds that should've, according to all sense, already killed the two. Chances were that they were fighting a losing battle.

Because soon they were staring at two flat green lines.

* * *

_Unaware of the professionals attempting to save their lives the father and son sat on the stunningly warm ground, admiring the snow falling softly. It was quiet and peaceful. A taste of heaven._

_"Are we dead?" Jack asked, his voice free of fear._

_Aaron blinked once, as though the thought had crossed his mind for the very first time. He watched as a snowflake landed on his hand, not melting at the touch. Then, slowly, he focused on his son. "I don't know", he admitted. And it didn't scare him like it should've. In fact he was quite alright with the thought._

_Jack nodded. The boy looked at him for a moment, as though memorizing, before focusing on the landscape once more. "Do you think mommy's gonna be there waiting?"_

_The thought actually brought a smile to Aaron's face. Brought him a shimmer of hope there, at the end of all things. "I'm sure that she'll be there, buddy. She's missed us."_

_Jack smiled as well. All of a sudden the child appeared old and wise far beyond his years. "I know." It was so quiet that he nearly missed it. "She told me so, when she visited my dreams."_

_There, sitting and waiting, Aaron took his son's hand. It was warm and so much smaller than his, and for a fleeting moment the feel reminded him of when he met Jack for the very first time. He was scared to death of breaking his child, back then._

_Somehow that fear felt silly now, once he'd put a bullet into Jack's chest._

_Aaron swallowed, feeling a sudden wave of nausea, pain and discomfort. "Jack… I'm so sorry, buddy." His voice cracked a little but at the moment it didn't matter. "I…"_

_Jack's warm, all-forgiving smile wiped away all words. For some reason the feel of the child's hand was growing fainter. Like the boy had been disappearing somehow. "It's okay, daddy. It wasn't your fault." This time the snowflakes were melting on their joined hands. Which one's skin was radiating the warmth? "You can go now, daddy. I'll be okay."_

_Aaron's lips opened but the words froze into his mouth. Somehow he had a feeling that Jack heard him, anyway. Then it all exploded into white._

* * *

In the two operating theaters the moods varied.

In one of them the doctors and nurses were all stunned when the heart monitor's line made a quick, greedy jump before settling to what it was supposed to be.

In the other one a doctor who'd already seen far too many patients go sighed, a tired pair of eyes straying towards the clock. "Time of death…"

* * *

Derek was still too weak in the aftermath of having been shot but there was no stopping David. When he heard the news that Mycroft's men had caught 'a signal' he joined them and accepted no objections. Despite the fact that he could still barely stand he managed to appear firm enough to be taken along reluctantly.

Their team of six entered the small storage building cautiously, prepared for anything. To their surprise there was nothing, not even a single trap, no guards. And then they heard the crying.

That of a baby.

David was running before the others had the time to try and stop him. In the end they'd reached a heavy, metallic door in a matter of seconds. The massive lock stealing it shut was taken down in a flash. David tore the door open without even pausing to wonder if there could be something dangerous waiting for them. The sight that met him coaxed a gasp out of him.

There on the floor, stained by blood, sweat and who knows what else, were Penelope and Emily. And they weren't alone. There in Emily's tired but determined arms was a tiny, furiously crying baby girl.

* * *

Eveleen was sitting on the backseat of a sleek, black car that was supposed to take her to a small, private airport. Subtle. Quiet. Far from her style but for now it'd have to do.

All of a sudden she frowned at the sensation of something warm and moist underneath her nose. Only seconds later a much too familiar scent met her nose. She knew what was going on long before she reached out her fingers and touched.

Blood.

Most might've written such a common thing off as insignificant. But Eveleen knew better. She knew that it was the first sign of something very, very unpleasant. She'd been a member of the team that developed this particular poison – as was someone else.

* * *

/ _Eveleen's eyes flashed while she watched the bleeding rat twitch once before it became perfectly still. Far more satisfaction that would've been acceptable coursed through her veins. Substance fifteen was promising. She took her clipboard and made some notes before sensing that someone was approaching. Four seconds later the room's door opened._

_Her boss Dr. Stanley Simms, a man in his late fifties with rapidly fleeing hair, dangerous blue eyes and a security clearance she could only dream of gave her a stiff nod. "Good morning, Erica. I'd like to introduce you to someone." He pointed towards someone at his right. "This man is the newest member of our team. He'll be working with you on project 103."_

_Trying to smile through the wave of rage and disappointment Eveleen focused on the arrival. Something in the man's eyes, however, aroused a spark of curiosity deep within her. "Hello, there. And welcome to the team. __I'm Dr. Erica Geller."_

_The man she later learned to know as Spencer Reid faked a smile. "And I'm Dr. Hamish Gummings. It'll be a pleasure to work with you."_ /

* * *

/ _While Eveleen leaned close to Spencer's ear less than hours before this fateful moment, whispering taunting words to him, he used the few precious moments before getting shot well. A needle stung her, swiftly and with such experience that she didn't even notice a thing._ /

* * *

/ _"Pull the trigger, Spencer."_

_"I already have. This is finishing it all nice and quick."_ /

* * *

Eveleen swallowed against the horrendous taste filling her mouth and balled her fists when the tremors seemed to take over her entire body. She didn't tell the driver to stop although she knew that she'd be dead long before they reached her destination. Instead she glanced out of the window, focusing on the sun shining through the trees.

A smirk took over her features. "I knew that you'd be the death of me since I met you", she murmured almost fondly, not bothering to resist when her eyes drifted closed. "See you in hell, love."

* * *

John screamed, tearing himself free from Irene's hold. Surely the former soldier must've known that he would've never made it in time, anyway. No matter how expected the gunshot was deafeningly loud. Blood stained Sherlock's clothes as the detective gasped, his eyes widening a fraction.

Only, the blood wasn't his own.

For just a moment there was surprise in Ivan's eyes. Then, under several pairs of eyes, the criminal mastermind slipped to the floor. All signs of life disappeared from the form that lay perfectly still.

As soon as he was convinced that the threat had been neutralized Sherlock turned his head. He felt no surprise at the sight of Mycroft standing by the building's entrance, a recently fired gun lowering slowly. Almost instinctively he made his way to John, taking a position that could only be called protective. "You're a little late, brother dear", he pointed out dryly.

Mycroft's left eyebrow twitched. Relief and annoyance fought over room in the older Holmes' eyes. "Surely a thank you wouldn't hurt, Sherlock?"

Beside Sherlock John breathed hard, his eyes wide and wild. The former soldier gulped several times before managing actual words, unable to look away from Ivan's still form that lay in a puddle of blood. "Bloody hell…!"

Irene smirked, appearing almost amused while her gaze flickered towards Mycroft. "So you do fieldwork, now?"

Mycroft looked back at her, his expression unreadable. "I believe that this situation called for an exception." The man's eyes narrowed. "Now, you remember the deal, don't you, Ms. Adler?"

Irene clicked her tongue. "Do not mock me, Mr. Holmes. I have an excellent memory."

* * *

/ _In the backroom of a small prison only few knew of Irene opened the eye that hadn't swollen shut from the series of beatings she'd received. She recognized the steps long before she lifted her head to see Mycroft. She couldn't read a single secret from his eyes._

_She smirked, ignoring the fact that it hurt. "I spoke to Sherlock a while ago", she revealed quietly, all too aware of the keen ears listening in on them. "He's been busy, for a dead man."_

_Mycroft's face didn't change. "You've been busy for someone who is supposed to be dead, too, Ms. Adler." He glanced around. "You've managed to get yourself into quite a mess."_

_Her eyebrow bounced up. "I assume that you have a way to get me out of this?"_

_"Yes. I'm proposing a deal." He sat down slowly, with elegance only a Holmes could muster. "Help me get close to Ivan and I'll get you out of this unpleasant place."_

_Irene wasn't entirely convinced. She tilted her head. "What happens afterwards?"_

_Mycroft leaned forward, placing his hands underneath his chin. "You'll be dead once more, of course. Whether you'll be dead for real this time is entirely up to how well you co-operate."_ /

* * *

With a small, mysterious smile Irene placed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. Her lips were cool and soft. "Goodbye, Mr. Holmes", she whispered. As she walked away, never once looking back, the younger Holmes knew for certain that he'd never see her again.

Sherlock inhaled deeply, his head swaying a little bit, and glanced towards where Mycroft's men were promptly arresting the members of the Moran web they could find. In the end his eyes found his brother's. The look there gave him the answer he'd been looking for.

It was over.

Little did he know that it was one of those very, very few times when the Holmes brothers made a error of judgement.

"SHERLOCK!"

Sherlock blinked once with surprise when all of a sudden John was right there before him, a firm hand on his shoulder. The doctor's lips opened. All that slipped past them, however, was a barely audible gasp.

It wasn't until then the sound of a brand new gunshot met Sherlock's ears. He noticed absently that there was a icy little smirk on Ivan's face before the man slumped down once more, this time truly gone. The gun that'd been snatched from one of Mycroft's less skilled men slipped from the criminal's grasp, having fulfilled its purpose. _That _Sherlock didn't even register properly.

"Sorry", John murmured, so that only Sherlock heard it.

And then the doctor slumped heavily into his arms.

* * *

Ashley's heart hammered madly while she ran with the speed of sheer despair, almost getting tangled on her own legs along the way. She'd managed to take down Moran, just as she'd been supposed to. The fight wasn't over yet, though. She refused to believe that it was.

Using the one bullet she had left to take down the door she dashed into the apartment. From the ear-piece attached to her left ear she caught that the rest of her team had found Danny, Emily and Penelope. A warm wave of relief flowed through her. It didn't live long, though. For just then the sight in the living room met her.

Spencer and Moran lay on the floor, so close that their hands could've touched if they'd tried. Both of them were painfully still and covered in blood. So pale that it really, truly scared Ashley.

_No…!_

That was when she noticed the faint rise and fall of Spencer's chest. The battle wasn't over, then. The all-consuming surge of hope pushed her forward.

Her fingers were swift and impatient while Ashley made sure that Moran was truly gone. There wasn't a single breath, no beat of life underneath her fingertips. In the end it'd only taken a single bullet to tear down the feared criminal that escaped the clutches of death twice.

Not pausing to revel in that thought she made her way to Spencer, rapidly calling for help before focusing on him fully. His eyes were closed. The pulse under her tightly squeezing fingers was faint. The blood… There was so much of it… "Spencer, I don't… I don't know if you can hear me." She swallowed and blinked rapidly. "But… You'd better fight this, you get that? Your son and the others… They need you." No longer wanting to feel the weak pulse she grabbed his hand instead, held on with as much force as she possibly could. "So hold on, alright? You're not allowed to let go now. Hold on."

She actually let out a small gasp of surprise when without a warning his fingers curled ever so slightly around hers. With a tiny chuckle of relief she tightened her own hold, letting him know that she was aware of his efforts. Her lips opened but for some reason the words refused to come. "Hold on", was all she managed.

And hold on he did, with all the strength he could possibly find. All the way until the sounds of sirens could be heard from outside and his heart stuttered before coming to a stop.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: What a wild ride we had there! (winces) Our ride is almost over. We'll see how many of our beloved characters make it all the way there.

PLEASE, do leave a note and let me know your thoughts in the aftermath of that storm of a chapter!

**A little note!** Just so you won't be surprised… I'll update the chapter-titles in near future, probably along with the next update.

Until next time, folks! I REALLY hope that you'll all join in for that one, especially since we're this close to the end of the story.

Take care!


	8. … and Back

A/N: This story seems to be typing itself. I can't believe how fast this one came out. (smirks) We'll see what that means to the quality…

THANK YOU, several times over, for your reviews and support! (HUGS) You guys are PRECIOUS. I truly hope that you know as much.

Awkay, I suppose it's time to go on with the story. (gulps) Are… ya… ready?

* * *

… and Back

* * *

Standing in the far edge of a small, private hospital's waiting room that was becoming crowded Mycroft observed with a degree of interest. Observed how David and Derek, who was sitting in a wheelchair, instantly perked up when Penelope entered the room. The woman, whose eyes were suspiciously red and puffy, had two children with her.

They looked like they'd been to hell and back, all of them. Derek was wounded and there was no mistaking the terror in his eyes. David was tense, exhausted and obviously in pain, Penelope didn't seem much better. Sherlock, on the other hand, was sitting as far from the others as possible, clearly having retreated to his Mind Palace. The man was shaking and injured, yet hadn't allowed a single doctor to touch him. Mycroft was fairly sure that he'd never seen his brother in such a condition.

They knew that three members of their bizarre family were fighting for their lives and Mycroft hadn't told them about the phone call from Ashley he just received about Spencer. Mycroft wasn't a man of sentiment but he had a feeling that this might all be too much for the ailing group.

As for Sherlock… It seemed that his brother had grown more fond of this odd group than he originally imagined. And then there was John's life on the line. Mycroft barely dared to wonder what'd become of Sherlock if…

"Emily, she… She's okay", Penelope announced. "She wanted to be here, too, but the exhaustion and pain medication were too tough of a challenge even for her."

Just then the older one of the children – Spencer's son Danny, the one the young genius fought so very hard to bring to safety – whimpered loudly, as though sensing that something was wrong. Missing. Without wasting a moment or hesitating Derek wheeled closer.

"I can take him", the injured mocha skinned man stated, certainty in his voice that cracked ever so slightly with emotion.

Penelope seemed to understand. Tears nearly pooled into her eyes all over again when Derek took his best friend's son gently into his arms, holding the infant close. Danny cried out again and wiggled, clearly not fully content, but in the end settled against Derek's warmth. Something about the whole sight stirred things in Mycroft that he wasn't comfortable with.

One of Mycroft's eyebrows bounced up when Penelope approached Sherlock, John and Emily's baby still in her arms. Her eyes were far from dry when she offered the sleeping infant towards the tense and wary detective. "Since… Since John can't be here right now… I'm sure that he'd want you to be the one to look after her."

For a few seconds Sherlock appeared stunned. Then something Mycroft couldn't even name appeared to his brother's eyes. Sherlock's hold on the baby grew tight and he pulled her close, holding on to her as though she was his soul lifeline. Something incredibly human and deep took over the usually composed man's features. Grief. Longing. Terror.

At that moment Mycroft finally realized, opened his eyes to see completely. In an instant his mind was made up. He slipped out of the room like a shadow, a newfound determination in his steps.

* * *

To John the voices came through a thick fog. _Medication_, the doctor in him recognized. At least he didn't feel pain anymore.

"… almost ready to take him in…"

"… I have a few moments with him?"

With what was most of his stubbornness John wrenched his eyelids halfway open. At first he couldn't recognize the blurry figure filling his line of vision. Then, just barely, Mycroft's face cleared out. There was a grim expression on the man's face. Or that's what his mind was telling him. He wasn't too sure. Perhaps he was imagining all this.

"I'm expecting you to fight, Dr. Watson." Mycroft's voice, if it in fact was real at all, sounded static. "You have friends expecting to hear that you're alright. A newborn daughter to look after. And most importantly, my brother."

John tried to hang on to that familiar voice, regardless of whether it was real or not. But he was losing focus. Mycroft's face was nothing but blur once more.

"Do not think, for even a second, that you saved Sherlock's life with taking that bullet for him. Because if you end up dying…"

John felt like he'd been sinking slowly. Everything was slipping away from him. Deciding that the fight wasn't worth it with how his vision was going he allowed his eyes to close once more.

"I'm expecting you to fight, because I won't let you go and take my brother with you. You have two hearts to answer for, now."

With that everything faded into black, and as his last thought John wondered if Mycroft's voice would turn out to be the last thing he ever heard.

* * *

Despite the chaos his body and soul were in Spencer was somehow aware of the presence beside him. Of the hand squeezing his firmly. He tried to squeeze back but his body wasn't under his control anymore.

"… you dare give up on me again, Spencer." Ashley's voice quivered, as did her hand. "Your team… Your son… They're all expecting you to come back to them, do you understand? They all believe in you. So don't you dare let go now."

Spencer did try to hold on, with all his might. But he felt his focus slipping. There were voices barking orders but they didn't make any sense to him.

"We just reached the hospital, Spencer." Ashley's hold became tighter, enough so to hurt. It was almost amusing that a simple squeeze hurt yet he couldn't feel his stab and gunshot wounds anymore. "Stay with me, okay?"

Spencer could actually feel that he was moving, although he had a feeling that it had nothing to do with the stretcher being wheeled on at anxious speed. He was slipping. Losing his grasp.

The exact second his hand was torn from Ashley's his heart chose to give out for the second time.

* * *

The hours passed by infuriatingly slowly for the group that was anxious to know whether their friends – _members of family_, really – were going to live. All but Derek, who tried but failed several times, got up when a middle-aged, sombre faced doctor in his scrubs made his way to them. Each of them found it easy to remember whose doctor this one was. The arrival's steps were slow and hesitant. Everyone in the room stiffened with solemn faces.

Bad news, they all knew in an instant.

The doctor sighed and swallowed loudly. "A team of doctors did their best, but… The internal damage was too severe. He passed away in the middle of the operation." The man's brown eyes were full of sincere sorrow. "I'm truly sorry."

David Rossi didn't know how, exactly, he made it there but five minutes later he found himself standing in the ICU. His whole body felt oddly numb while he stared through a glass-window, his eyes rooted on the patient inside although he didn't really want to see. The lines on the heart monitor were jumpy, unstable.

He'd seen Aaron Hotchner beat the impossible several times but this time there was no telling whether his friend would come out alive. Especially when he'd just lost the most important thing he'd kept fighting for. Especially when the bullet fired from Aaron's gun had been too much for Jack's heart. And even if the former unit chief survived by some miracle he'd spend the rest of his life in a prison. Unfair. All of it.

All of a sudden steps paused beside him. To his surprise the arrival was Mycroft. There was a unreadable expression on the government official's face. "Your doctor asked me to have a word with you. Apparently you should be in bed-rest."

David nodded stiffly, hoping that the other wouldn't go further with the topic. He gritted his teeth. "I… don't want him to be alone, even though they won't let anyone inside. He shouldn't be alone now."

Mycroft nodded this time, a thoughtful look on his face. Those sharp eyes were darted towards Aaron and David felt tempted to wonder what was going through the man's head. "Do you think he knows about Jack?" the Brit inquired.

David gulped hard, a foul taste filling his mouth. Unpleasant memories rolled in. "Believe me, I know he does."

They stood in silence for the longest time, both lost into their thoughts.

* * *

/ _Entering a small interrogation room only four people aside himself knew existed Mycroft bit back a sigh. When one of his most trusted men had told him that they had Aaron Hotchner he'd tried to convince himself that the information was false. The man he found was, however, much too familiar._

_Aaron… was a mess. It looked like the man hadn't been eating or sleeping for ages. The unshaven beard only enforced the pitiable sight._

_"I instructed the security cameras to be switched off and told others to leave. For now we're alone." Mycroft sighed, sitting down slowly. "I truly wish that we wouldn't have to meet this way", he confided._

_Aaron looked at him for a couple of seconds. Trying to deduce and failing. "What are you going to do with me?" The voice was a little rough from lack of use._

_"In exactly sixty-two seconds a man will come in. I'll tell him that you're not the one we've been looking for." His tone was cool and professional although there were far more feelings than he liked coursing through his veins. "But the next time I can't be as generous."_

_"I understand." There was a great deal of remorse but also determination on Aaron's face. "But… It's for Jack. I need to do this, even if it means fighting alone. He's what I live for."_

_Sentiment, a chemical defect found in the losing side. That's what Mycroft had believed in all his life. Seeing the sheer, wrenching agony in Aaron's eyes he knew that he'd been right. The man before him was definitely fighting a losing battle._

_Mycroft felt his eyes soften slightly. "Good luck." And he meant it. Right after those words the room's door opened and the man he mentioned earlier came in. He barked out an order in Russian and watched how Aaron was first blindfolded, then led away. He couldn't understand why through it all there was a small, gnawing sadness on his inexistent heart._ /

* * *

Mycroft sighed, noticing that the life-lines they were observing weren't turning towards anything better.

Hearing him David gave him a questioning look. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing of any importance." From the corner of his eye he saw a new doctor hovering a few steps away, just outside David's line of vision. The look in the woman's eyes wasn't a promise of this nightmare ending. He gritted his teeth, preparing himself. Not bothering to offer David any useless words or gestures of comfort he walked on. It was surprisingly hard not to look back towards Aaron, who was teetering between the desires to give up and live.

* * *

After a suffocatingly heavy darkness that lasted for a small eternity John finally opened his eyes and gasped at what he found.

He was standing on the rooftop of a hospital, with a empty street spreading far down below. The chilling, twisted familiarity of it all sent his head reeling. He swallowed and swayed, almost lost his feeble footing.

What…?

"It looks very different from this point of view, doesn't it?" Out of nowhere, it seemed, James Moriarty appeared and looked down as well. There was a small, stunningly… human smile on the deceased criminal's face. "I appreciate your taste of drama, Johnny."

John's eyes narrowed. Even here, with his head barely coherent and unaware of what was going on, the sight of the monster beside him sent his blood boiling. "You're dead", he spat.

Moriarty shrugged. "So are you, as it is. Whether you stay that way in entirely up to you. Or faith, or whatever silly thing it is that you choose to believe in." The man sat down on the edge, appearing infuriatingly calm. "You can stay right here, of course." One of the criminal mastermind's fingers pointed down. "Or you can try your luck and jump, just like Sherlock did. You might still be dead. Or you might be in for a surprise. I, for one, love surprises." The man in a expensive suit giggled in a manner that suggested he'd just heard the most hilarious joke. "That's the beauty of it. There's no way of knowing."

John's eyebrow bounced up. A healthy amount of suspicion coursed through him. "Are you honestly expecting me to believe you?"

Moriarty looked at him dryly. "Don't be dull, Johnny. Take a look around." The man gestured vaguely. "What, exactly, do you have to lose?"

John looked down again. Really looked, seeing just long the fall was. He gulped loudly, hesitating. And then the memories came flooding in.

Good times and bad.

The past, all of it, and images of a future that might still be there, if only…

John breathed in deeply although air didn't exist where he was. Inhaled, exhaled, and took a step into emptiness. There was no telling where he'd go, if there was no going back anymore. It was more than likely that things would never be the same again.

So, just like Sherlock once did, John spread his arms and allowed himself to fall forward.

"Goodbye, Johnny-boy." Moriarty sounded infuriatingly chirpy. "Have a safe flight."

John closed his eyes. Allowed his mind to drift and go unfocused. And it occurred to him that indeed, falling was quite a bit like flying. Even without a more permanent destination.

* * *

The moment Spencer opened his eyes he could tell that something was badly, horribly wrong. He frowned, trying to understand. And then his eyes found the person lay almost directly before him, nearly hidden by the medical professionals struggling to save a life.

He was watching… himself.

He blinked twice, more stunned than terrified. Even fought the desire to take a step closer. He looked so very peaceful as he lay there, with his eyes closed. As though his body had already decided that it was perfectly acceptable to let go.

Spencer tilted his head with a frown, noticing very clearly that there was no twitch on the straight line that was his pulse. The frown deepened slowly. Was this really it? Was this the end?

He fought so hard.

Found people to whom he mattered.

Became a father.

Was this really his time to go?

With a breathless gasp Spencer brought his hand to where his heart was supposed to be beating. There wasn't even a stutter. "Please…", he whispered although he wasn't sure if there was anything or anyone listening.

But the line remained unchanged. The expressions of the people fighting for his life were becoming grim. The clock kept ticking against him. He would've cried but tears didn't exist in his current form.

"Please, not yet…!"

His plea remained unanswered. His heart refused to come back to life. Slowly yet surely the attempts to save his life were ending.

"Please…!" Even as nothing but a trick of his imagination his voice barely existed anymore. "I don't… I don't want to go."

But his willpower wasn't enough to change the course of faith. There, in his constantly fading line of vision, the professionals were giving up. "Time of death…", one of them began.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Oh my…! Now THAT was emotional. (gulps) Little Jack's already gone. Who else will perish before this tale is over?

PLEASE, do leave a note! Even if it's to berate a nasty author who seems to be sparing no one… (smirks sheepishly)

Until next time, ya all! I REALLY hope that you'll be staying tuned for that one.

ONLY THREE MORE TO GO.

Take care!


	9. The Edge of Winter

A/N: Gosh, I'm so sorry that it took me this long to update! (winces) There were… certain things about this story that I STRUGGLED to decide, and thus the story was stuck for a moment. (pouts) But now we're back in business! (grins)

THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for you reviews and affection towards this fic! It seriously means the world to me. (HUGS)

Awkay, because I've already kept you waiting for too long… Let's go! I really hope that this turns out worth the wait.

* * *

The Edge of Winter

* * *

The hallway outside the mortuary was empty and hollow, reeked of death and goodbyes. The woman waiting there swallowed down a touch of nausea. There was no time for over-sentimentality. Not now.

She looked up at the sounds of steps to see a woman of her age with long, neatly tied black hair and sharp blue eyes. One half of the woman's face was covered in scars. She was coroner Daria Ebbings, a less known member of the Moriarty web. A nice asset when it came to cleaning up certain messes. "I understood that you came to see a body." A thick Irish accent, right there. "Are you a relative?"

"Yes, you could say that." With all the experience she'd gotten lately the lie came to JJ easily. It wasn't much of a challenge to coax a touch of sadness into her voice. "I'm Eveleen Moriarty."

The coroner nodded, her expression unchanged. There was, however, a touch of recognition in her eyes. A spark of delight. "Follow me, then."

The body she'd come to see wasn't even covered. Clearly the coroner had just started processing it. They stood there staring at it in silence for the longest time, deep in thought. JJ looked at the corpse's face, a rather large part of her expecting those eyes to open once more. They didn't. Where someone might've seen a tragedy she saw hope.

Ivan Rimakov was truly gone. There were no more obstacles standing in her way. The game was on, now.

"Killed by a single bullet." Daria sounded… gloomy, almost. There were shadows on her face. "What a pity." The woman glanced towards her and for just a moment there was dangerous wonder. "I'm surprised that you're here, in person."

JJ did her best to maintain a poker face. "Sentiment", she stated, looking at Ivan's body for a one more second before beginning to leave. "Gets to us all."

"I see."

As she walked by JJ brushed Daria's hand. The motion was swift and skilled. The woman didn't notice a thing. If all would go according to the plan the coroner wouldn't realize what was happening until she'd fall dead in exactly twenty-six hours. "Not a word of this to anyone", JJ half growled, half purred. "Strictly discreet, remember?"

Daria shivered a bit under the touch. "Yes", the woman murmured. "Of course."

It wasn't a very long time ago the end of human lives shocked JJ. Now she didn't even glance over her shoulder to see the unsuspecting woman she was leaving for death. Instead she marched towards the elevator, her high heels clapping angrily against the hard floor. As she stepped into the box she froze for a moment, staring at her reflection. Not just the red hair and the changed eyes. But _into_ those eyes, into the soul beneath.

She was a traitor. A murderer. An actress. But if the price of keeping her children and friends safe was her soul… Then that's what she'd pay. That's the decision she made when she met Mycroft on that fateful day, Spencer's blood from when she was forced to beat him up staining her skin. If she had to go to hell at least she'd do it for a good reason.

The doors closed, and Jennifer Jareau disappeared.

* * *

People were bustling through the hallway. Doctors and nurses fighting to save lives, people crying over the loss of a beloved. A cleaning up crew clattered its way into one room where death just visited to clean up the mess left behind. Because the stream of life wouldn't stop moving on although one human being had ceased to exist.

Mercifully enough David didn't notice any of that, nor did he register the pitying looks darted his way. He didn't know how long he'd already been standing there, staring and observing. As though his presence would've made any difference. As though he would've been able to awaken Aaron with the sheer power of his will.

He was entirely too aware of what the doctors said. He knew exactly how slim the chances of Aaron ever waking up were. And if he was brutally honest with himself he wasn't fully sure if it was reasonable to wish for the unit chief to come back from wherever he lingered. How much of Aaron even existed anymore?

He lost his son, by his very own bullet. It was either eternal slumber or a life in a world where that knowledge would be all the entirely too serious man knew. There'd be years – decades – of imprisonment and agony.

Was it cruel of David, then, to wish that…?

"Hey." Penelope's soft voice startled him. There were tears in the woman's eyes. Some of them spilled when she looked towards Aaron.

"Hey", David returned. He glanced towards the space behind her. "Where's Morgan?"

Penelope swallowed loudly. "He… said that he needed some air." The sound that came out could've been a gag or a sob. She wiped her eyes furiously but the moisture came back instantly. She cleared her throat. "So, how…? Has there been…?" She started both questions boldly but in the end they died onto her tongue.

Fortunately David heard, anyway. He inhaled, making a sullen discovery that it hurt. "No improvement." Seeing the flash of agony on her face he hurried to add. "But no setbacks, either. We'll just… have to wait, I guess."

Penelope nodded. Clearly needing the closeness too much to even wonder if she should ask for a permission she stepped closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. David didn't mind, either. It felt comforting to know that at least one member of their team was alive and well, right there beside him.

"Can I… wait with you?" It was so close to a plea that it stung him. Even without looking he knew that her eyes were just as desperate. "Because I don't want to be alone now."

"Of course."

And there they stood, both terrified of what was to come yet furiously attempting to remain firm and strong. Looking at Aaron David came to think that it looked almost like the man had been smiling. He couldn't help wondering just where his friend's mind wandered.

In Aaron's very own world none of the chaos, pain and destruction existed. Even though it was snowing it was as warm as on a beautiful summer day. Sun shone on the snowflakes, making them shimmer like diamonds.

* * *

_The only sound he heard was Jack's laughter when he pushed his son's swing. "Higher, daddy! Higher!"_

_Aaron couldn't help chuckling at his son's excitement. His lips opened but before any words came out he sensed that they were being watched. He lifted his head with a degree of curiosity. A pulse of warmth spread right through him when he found Haley standing only steps away._

_For a moment they just looked at each other, savouring the feeling. Then Haley melted into that beautiful smile he remembered so well that it hurt. "Hey", she whispered. "I've missed you."_

* * *

The first thing that existed to the slowly awakening person was the warmth. While the rest of his body felt ice-cold his hand was comfortably warm. For a moment his still very much slumbering brain tried to come up with the reason. That was when he noticed the pressure.

Was someone… holding his hand?

His fingers twitched, stubbornly attempting to respond when something deep within began to recognize. He used up everything there was within him and pushed. In the end there seemed to be the slightest of twitches.

Well, at very least it was enough to earn a reaction. The pressure grew tighter, as though attempting to anchor him to the present. Slowly yet surely more of his coherence began to return. Eventually he was able to tear his eyes halfway open. After the immediate shock of blinding light he began to distinguish a figure. If it wasn't for something having been stuffed into his throat he would've smiled.

Sherlock appeared exhausted and entirely too tense but unharmed, which meant that he'd succeeded.

It took a while before he realized that the detective's lips were moving. He frowned, trying to comprehend the words. The only one he caught was his own name.

"_John?_"

Everything was muffled, almost muted. Wrong. Although John knew, on the level of reason, that there was nothing to worry about – that it was just the medication playing tricks on him – he could actually feel his heartbeat spike up. He squirmed, trying to make some sense into things. His hand fumbled towards the bloody annoying thing stuck in his throat.

He was conscious and breathing just fine on his own, he most certainly didn't need to be intubated any longer!

All struggles paused when John noticed something very, very alarming. He froze entirely, just like he did once upon a time when a bullet tore through his shoulder. His eyes widened and whatever warmth he'd managed to experience a while back faded away entirely. He could actually hear Sherlock calling out to him now but it hardly registered. All that really sunk in was what he _couldn't_…

John's hand shook when he laid it to where he assumed his legs were, resting underneath the bedcovers. At first he pushed gently, then fiercely, desperately. But hard as he tried the result was the same.

He couldn't feel his legs.

* * *

There were days when Dr. Andrew Arlington understood, entirely too well, why his father burst into a laughter when he announced that he'd become a doctor, just like his father and grandfather were. Today was one of them. Watching the life of a man who hadn't even turned thirty-five slip away right before his eyes was one of those about a million things that'd haunt him until the day he'd inhale his last breath.

Dr. Spencer Reid had fought a brave, hard battle but it appeared that the man was losing.

Andrew sighed, his eyes turning towards the clock on the room's wall. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. "Time of death…"

"Andrew." One of his most trusted nurses, Rita Towers, stared at the patient's vitals with wide blue eyes. She appeared dangerously pale behind her mask.

Andrew looked as well. His eyes grew to a comical extend. "Holy…!"

There was a pulse, a beat. Frail at best and entirely too unsteady, but stubbornly present. It was impossible to tell what, exactly, had pulled Spencer back for a one more time. But somehow the agent had managed to steal a few more moments.

Because, sadly, that's exactly what it was.

Andrew exchanged looks with his team. Usually they would've been overjoyed by the fact that the patient hadn't been lost, after all. But they all knew the facts.

Spencer's heart had already been put through far too much and it wouldn't last much longer. There was also some internal bleeding that Andrew didn't think any surgeon would've been able to get their hands on without dire consequences. It was a cruel choice, really – to kill a patient with not helping or with helping. Andrew, with a heavy heart and knowing entirely too well that the decision would weight on him forever, came to a conclusion that he'd put this poor man through enough.

The sigh Andrew gave shuddered with suppressed emotions. "Well, I'm closing him up. Then we'll give him a good amount of pain medication and see if we can wake him up for a while. Maybe he'll get the chance to say goodbye."

There was unhidden sorrow in Rita's eyes. She blinked just a little bit too rapidly. "Do you want me to tell his friends?"

Andrew shook his head. "No." He looked towards the sedated man's face. There was a frown, almost like… "I'll do it myself." _I'm sorry, kid. I'm really sorry._

The operation was finished in a sombre silence, with Andrew trying to prepare himself for the inevitable. None of them was able to stop listening to the sounds of the heart monitor. They couldn't help wondering how many beats there were left.

* * *

TBC

* * *

A/N: Okay… (sighs and blinks rapidly) That… was quite heavy, and it isn't helping that there's a VERY sad tv-program on the background while I'm finishing the process of proofreading. The poor team! Poor… everyone!

PLEASE, do leave a note to let me know your thoughts! I have a feeling that there might be some after a chapter like this…

I've really gotta start to head towards the bed. (yawns) Until next time, you all! I REALLY hope that you'll stay tuned for that one.

ONLY TWO MORE TO GO!

Take care!


	10. All That Remains

A/N: I'm baaaaaaack! And yup, I've got a chapter with me. (grins) Yay…?

BUT, first…! THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews and support! You can't even imagine how good it feels that you guys have stayed with this tale all the way here. (BEAMS) So thank you!

Awkay, before I get all too sentimental… Let's go! I really hope you'll enjoy the ride.

Uh… Tissue warning?

* * *

All That Remains

* * *

Ashley Seaver never, ever felt like she was a true part of the BAU-family. She was merely someone who stopped by briefly, saw a glimpse of their lives before moving on. But they stayed in her memories. They gave her something amazing and she wanted, more than anything, to return that favor one day. Yet she failed to save Spencer.

Ashley had some sort of an idea of what was going on after a brief meeting with Mycroft. But she didn't get the full severity of the situation until she barged into the waiting room where a doctor was just delivering the entirely too small remaining team news. The looks on their faced hit her like a pile of bricks, made her freeze to the spot.

_NO…!_

She moved closer as though in a slowed motion, most likely because she didn't want to hear. The doctor was already long gone by the time she made it to them. "What… What's going on?"

Tears were streaming down Penelope's face. "It's… It's Reid. They told us to say goodbye."

* * *

/ _Mycroft was surprised, to say the least, when there was a knock on his newest office's door and agent Jennifer Jareau walked in. With well practised ease his eyes scanned her through, spotting the shadows around her eyes and the blood on her knuckles. Mycroft felt tempted to wonder whose blood it was, since her skin seemed unharmed. He knew what she came for long before she voiced it. _

_JJ took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing slightly against hatred that wasn't directed at him. "You're right. It's big, bigger than we ever thought. And… The only way to destroy the web is from the inside. So I've… been thinking about your… suggestion."_

_Mycroft nodded slowly. "And what conclusion did you reach?" As though he hadn't known already._

_"On _their _side there are only five people who have seen Eveleen Moriarty in person, correct?"_

_"Four, now", Mycroft corrected instantly._

_JJ nodded, the flames in her eyes growing along with her determination. "Eliminate them. Then we can start operation Delta."_ /

* * *

Despite the fact that she'd been forced to tear it to pieces JJ's heart hammered furiously while she stood behind a window that opened a view to Spencer's hospital room where Derek was keeping vigil. She knew, entirely too well, that the young genius was running out of time fast. That this would be the last time she'd ever see him. She would've given just about anything if she'd been allowed to go inside and hold his hand, to tell him how sorry she was for everything. He was her best friend who'd given up so very much to protect the team and her children. And now all she could do was watch from the sidelines as he slipped away.

She hoped that he knew how hard she fought, too, since the day she entered Mycroft's office, her hands stained by Spencer's blood from where she was forced to beat him up. She tried so very hard yet in the end she had to hurt several good people. She had to shoot at Aaron, to leave him into who knows what condition. Her stomach twisted at the thought that the unit chief might be dead already.

So much pain, sorrow and suffering, when all she wanted was to bring an end to this madness.

* * *

/ _John's eyes widened when he opened the car's door to see JJ there. "You?"_

_She fought hard and managed to keep her expression in check. "Do come in. There's a lot we need to do."_

_It wasn't until later, while she was fastening the vest of explosives on John's tensed up frame, she got the chance to speak out what she'd really wanted to say. As the spikes dug through his skin, making him shudder, she leaned close to his ear and whispered. "I'm so sorry." What he couldn't possibly know, especially in his state of agony, was that she slipped a tracker chip Mycroft gave her to his clothing and activated it. She could only wish that the British government would get there before the bomb's timer hit zero._ /

* * *

/ _As much as she would've wanted to look away JJ couldn't help but stare at Aaron's form sprawled on the floor, a gunshot wound of her making sneering right back at her. She felt dizzy and sick to her stomach while she used all her willpower and walked away. As soon as she was at a safe distance, where no security cameras or members of the criminal web would see, she took her cell phone. Dialing numbers was a taunting task with how badly her fingers shook but somehow she managed._

_"There's… A man's been shot", she announced as soon as the emergency operator picked up. Tears threatened to blind her while the memory-clip of her shooting Aaron kept rolling on and on. "I need an ambulance, as fast as possible."_

_Somehow, no matter how hard she tried to keep on hoping, she already knew that she'd just done something she'd never be redeemed for._ /

* * *

/ _When Emily and Penelope were taken away from the safehouse by a group of masked men, forced to leave a injured Spencer behind, they couldn't possibly know that one of their captors was JJ. This time she couldn't risk leaving behind a chip. Her comrades were keeping a far too close eye on her. It wasn't until a couple of hours later, when she was allowed to have a bathroom break, she fired on a message._

_When it came to Spencer she failed. But if she'd manage to save the two of them, maybe that was enough. Maybe then she'd manage to sleep at night._ /

* * *

JJ was pulled out of her sullen thoughts by the sound of a text message. The number was such that no one would be able to trace but she knew. She'd been wondering when Irene Adler would manage to contact her. Despite everything a small hint of comfort appeared to her chest when she read the words. Not to even mention what she felt at the picture of her children, safe and sound and happy, playing under the watchful eyes of Jason Gideon.

'_We found them, safely and discreetly. Now finish your assignment and come back to them. I'm not a babysitter._'

JJ didn't even know where they were or what names they were using. She didn't know if she'd ever get the chance to try and find them. But at least they were alive, somewhere safe and protected. In the middle of all the chaos that was a shimmer of hope. That was all she had left to hold on to.

JJ swallowed and cast a longing look towards the room where Spencer and Derek were. She would've wanted to see the others as well, one last time, but perhaps it was easier this way. She was supposed to be Eveleen Moriarty. There was no place for sentiment in Eveleen's life.

And so, casting a one more mourning look towards the life that she was leaving behind, JJ turned around and walked away to start a lonely war against a seemingly undefeatable organization.

* * *

Mere seconds after JJ's departure Spencer frowned while consciousness began to rush back in. He licked his lips and tried unsuccesfully to open his eyes. There was absolutely no pain in him, which alone was alarming. There should've been a degree of agony after the injuries he'd received, especially considering that he must've undergone a surgery.

So what…?

And then it hit him, flowed through like a river of ice. He'd already cheated death several times over. It only made sense, statistically, that he couldn't keep doing so forever.

"Reid?" Derek's voice wasn't much stronger than a whisper. There were sounds of movement. "Hey, are you awake?"

Slowly and with far more effort than he'd expected Spencer's eyes managed to open halfway. There was a bit of blur until the older agent came into view. The man wasn't alone. Spencer's heart took an extra beat when he noticed the little boy in his friend's arms.

His son was sleeping very contentedly and Spencer liked to imagine that the dreams the little one was seeing were pleasant.

"Reid?" There was a look of intense worry on Derek's face. Like there would've been any reason to worry anymore, really. There was no changing where things were going. "Are you in pain? Do you need…?"

Spencer shook his head. Even the simple gesture was almost more than he could handle. "I'm okay." What a bizarre thing to say, considering. He cleared his throat and tried to shift but his body felt ridiculously heavy. "The others… Where…?"

"Don't worry about them, kid." Derek's tone came dangerously close to breaking, right there. Still the man tried to smile bravely. "You just focus on yourself, yeah?"

They looked at each other and in that moment it became clear that they both knew the facts. Time was limited and Spencer was determined to use it well. "I wish… I don't want to go, Derek." There was no use in hiding behind surnames anymore. His eyes grew moist but he blinked it away stubbornly. There was a lot he wanted to say and he wouldn't be able to do that if he let feelings take over. "But… I'm not scared, not anymore."

Derek nodded. Because really, what words would've fit the situation? The man seemed as close to breaking as he was.

Spencer found it hard to stay awake. He sighed, his eyelids drooping, and looked at Danny. "I know that you'll take a good care of him", he murmured. "Make sure that you read to him, a lot. He loves books."

Derek chuckled. It sounded a lot more moist than it should've. "Of course he does."

Spencer took a deep breath, ignoring the fact that it hurt. Something in his stomach moved painfully while he kept watching his child. "You'll… make sure that he knows I loved him, right?"

Derek nodded, suddenly very serious. "I swear. He'll never, ever have to wonder whether his daddy loved him or not."

Spencer nodded back. Tried to find some comfort from that promise. Almost a minute passed before he found his voice again. "Could you do me a one more favor?"

Derek snorted. "It wounds me that you have to ask."

Spencer gritted his teeth to fight back a stab of pain. He wondered if it was more physical or emotional. Most likely the latter, considering the amount of medication that must've been pumped into him. "Could you… give me some paper, and a pen? There's… I need him to know something."

* * *

John was fairly sure that he'd been knocked out with medication. Or perhaps he just passed out. Because one moment all he knew was pain, fear and chaos. And then he woke up to… full clarity, almost. A shudder crossed his whole frame while memories flowed through, when the half of his body that he couldn't feel registered through the fog.

But then there was something else that anchored him to reality. Something that made his heart leap. Small, adorable sounds of a baby.

John's eyes widened while he turned his head a bit too quickly to see Emily by his bedside. She was sitting in a wheelchair, which was most likely required before she'd been allowed out of her room. It was fortunate that he was too stunned and out of it to think that a similar device might play a rather huge part in his future. Although Emily seemed exhausted and there was something he recognized as grief in her eyes she was glowing. The reason became apparent when he saw the baby in her arms. _Their _baby.

Shock took over John to a point where he barely heard Emily's words. "There's… I need to do something." She blinked rapidly, as though fighting back tears. "Could you keep an eye on her in the meantime?"

It didn't even cross John's mind to ask why she wouldn't trust the staff or her friends to look after their little one. All that fit into his consciousness was the baby. "You mean…?" he choked out, unable to tear his eyes away from his daughter.

"Yeah." Her voice was far softer than he'd ever heard it. "You have a little girl."

It seemed that words chose to abandon John entirely right there. He couldn't utter a thing while she placed the baby into his arms. Not even when the little one grabbed his hospital gown with a stunning amount of force, as though deciding immediately that she'd never, ever let go of him.

The sounds of the wheelchair alerted John. He frowned at the clearly visible sadness on the quickly leaving woman's face. "Emily? Are you alright?"

She tried to smile. It didn't come out right. "Yeah, of course. I'll see you two later." She left without giving him the chance for any more questions.

Once they were left alone all John had eyes for was his daughter. He looked at her, just as her eyes opened as well, staring back intently. Tears nearly blinded his vision.

He'd been forced to get back to his feet, to rebuild his life from the ashes, so many times. When he got shot, after Sherlock's fall, after the deaths of his wife and child, and now. On several nights he'd asked – screamed out loud – what was the point. Now, looking into those eyes that at least for a while looked stunningly lot like his, John knew.

It'd be a long, hard path. It was highly possible that he'd end up straying into the dark more than once. But for her he'd go to hell and back a million times over.

He smiled and chuckled at how fascinated she seemed by the couple of tears that rolled down his cheeks, shining as light hit them. "Hello there, Faith."

As much as John knew it to be impossible he could've sworn that she smiled back at him, right there.

* * *

When Spencer woke up once more he knew, on some strange level, that it'd be for the last time. For some reason it didn't frighten him. Instead he felt… numb, almost. He wondered if it was the medication's doing.

Determined to stay awake for as long as possible he turned his head and blinked twice, even with the risk that he wouldn't be able to open his eyes again.

His friends – his _family_ – were there, gathered as close to his bed as possible. Derek must've fought a brave battle but in the end the man had fallen asleep, arms folded over his chest and a frown on his face. David had also appeared at some point and in the end dozed off, snoring softly. Penelope's head was rested against Derek's shoulder while the woman slumbered, traces of recently shed tears clearly evident on her cheeks. Even Emily was there, sitting in a wheelchair and visibly exhausted but alright nevertheless. Something about her seemed different and the young genius wondered if she'd had her baby, even if the idea of never getting to see her child ached him. She must've succumbed to her fatigue only moments ago because her hand twitched. To his surprise even Ashley was there, sleeping soundly a bit further from the others. Spencer frowned at the discovery of Aaron and JJ being missing. He hoped that they were alright, wherever they were.

And then he saw Sherlock, standing by the room's doorway with a unreadable look on his face. Well, almost, anyway. Spencer could clearly see the worry in those eyes. They exchanged small nods, both aware that it was their very own way to say goodbye.

Spencer wasn't sure if he turned his head or if it simply fell to the side. But in that moment all he could see was his son, who'd been placed to a tiny bed not far away. He looked towards Sherlock with pleading eyes, wishing that the detective understood what he wanted. Of course the Brit did.

In some other situation it might've amused the young agent how careful, almost hesitant, Sherlock was with Danny. But in the end the determined detective had the little one safely in his arms. Spencer reached out as soon as the other man was close enough. His hand trembled out of exhaustion and something beyond agony when he brushed Danny's face softly. The little one sighed and wrinkled his nose, coming close to waking up, but in the end the child didn't even stir. One half of Spencer was relieved while the other shuddered with sadness. It would've been good to see his son's eyes, one last time.

Spencer couldn't fight the tears anymore. A couple of them rolled while he leaned forward and pressed a small, chaste kiss to Danny's forehead. It was the last thing he'd ever do, and he couldn't come up with anything better.

Spencer's mind began to drift away right there. His eyes slipped closed without him being able to do anything about it. Quite faintly he heard the sounds of Sherlock putting the baby away. The noises were muffled, like he'd been sinking under water. Somewhere on the edge of it all coming to an end he was almost sure that he felt a hand on his but it could've been his imagination.

It wasn't a very long life he had. It wasn't easy, either. But at least his brief stay had left a mark. At least he mattered.

He saved lives.

He made friends.

He loved and was loved in return.

He was, by some miracle, even granted a child.

If that was all that remained of him… then it was more than enough.

Yes, it was a very good life indeed.

Once again Spencer drifted into sleep. So subtly and swiftly that he barely realized that it was happening. He knew that he'd never wake up again but it didn't scare him.

What did he have to fear when his head was full of memories of people he cared about, of a life well lived?

* * *

TBC, for an epilogue

* * *

A/N: Okay… (gulps hard) That… wasn't exactly easy to type. Those poor, poor things! Poor Reid! (wipes eyes)

Soooo… Thoughts? Comments? PLEASE, do leave a note to the box below! And keep in mind that butchering a author would be considered very, very rude… (sweatdrops)

I'll be headed for a little adventure next Monday but I'll do my very best to post the epilogue before that. Gosh, I can't believe that this story's coming to an end! (sighs and pouts)

Until next time, ya all! I really hope that I'll be seeing you all around.

Take care!


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